All Roads Lead to Cas
by einstinette
Summary: Dean and Castiel are most known for their profound bond. Neither realizes exactly how, but, somehow, someway, these two are connected to each other even across time and space. No matter what universe, they find themselves together, though the question is whether or not Dean can realize it in time. Read and Review. Sorry, it's better than it sounds. My summaries suck... Enjoy!
1. Twilight Zone

All Roads Lead to Cas

Chapter 1

Twilight Zone

For a hunter of the supernatural, there is never a moment of peace as they must always be alert, ready for danger that may be so bold as to break tradition and attempt to find them. So, early in their training, hunters are taught lessons that are more valuable than any gold or silver could ever be as it is these things that may one day save their life. From the beginning, the intrepid hunters have this secret knowledge forcibly impressed upon their brains. They learn how to maintain while sleep deprived, how to ask for help, how to hide pain, how to treat wounds, how to rest anywhere, how to sleep lightly, and above all how to be constantly vigilant of their surroundings. Without these most basic tenements, death was imminent.

These instructions had been particularly pounded into the somewhat dense head of Dean Winchester, but on this particular morning, he found that he honestly didn't care. If a monster was going to destroy him, to torture and kill him, so be it, because for once, there seemed to be a soft bed underneath him and no impending danger swirling over his head. No apocalypse, no demons, no ghosts, no monsters, it was just him and the dim awareness that someone had their arms wrapped tightly around his torso.

Instead of being concerned, he found that he didn't care where he was or who this particular conquest was. He simply allowed himself to enjoy the closeness of the moment, the intimacy that he would leave behind as soon as he pulled on his clothes and walked out of those doors forever. Though, for a moment, he could easily forget the life that he lived, bouncing from motel to motel, slaying monster after monster, and waiting for the next one to appear. For just this brief span of time, he could revel in the life that might have been his had he not grown up in the lifestyle. He could pretend that this person loved him, and that he would be there with her forever.

"Good morning," the groggy voice next to him murmured, still carrying the remnants of sleep.

"Mmmm," the relaxed man replied without moving.

The last thing that he wanted to do was open his eyes and resume his complicated identity as Dean Winchester, to go back to his life as it was instead of how he wished it could be. He just wanted to rest here in utter stillness for as long as he possibly could, but his bedmate had other ideas. She rubbed her cheeks against his and to his surprise, it felt startlingly rough, like… like… stubble.

Stubble. Green eyes flew wide in shock and open mouthed horror as he turned around, only to be confronted by a disturbingly familiar face. He would know those blue eyes and dark, messy hair anywhere. "Cas?" he barked nervously, staring at the apparently shirtless man that was lying next to him in bed. Though, he wasn't much one for prayer, Dean earnestly hoped that the angel was clothed underneath the sheets, and that this was all some misunderstanding of epic proportions that would be righted with only an awkward conversation. "Wha- What? What are you doing, man?"

Cas laughed, a deep rumble in his chest as he shifted closer so that said chest was flush against the other man's back. He moved with startling normalcy as though this was a long established, expected occurrence. "I'm trying to rest and ignore the throb I get every time I move." He grinned. His blue eyes were alight with laughter. He was happy, still clothed in the blinding afterglow of a night of wonderful, back-arching, marathon sex that only one person could give him.

Meanwhile, Dean was sure that he'd entered some form of mental or emotional shock. Cas was next to him in bed and alluding to the fact that they'd had sex, that they'd been together just the night before and bumped pelvises. No, he had to be imagining this. It couldn't be real. "Oh, yeah, sure." He nodded with a nearly hysterical chuckle. "How did we end up like this?"

Castiel propped himself up on his arm and used the other to begin gently stroking Dean's exposed side, his fingers barely making contact and causing goosebumps. The hunter stiffened, trying to ignore the pleasant feelings that rocked through his spine as he was touched in ways that no one had touched him in months. "Well, it started with dinner at the restaurant, followed by chocolate covered strawberries, pledges of your undying love, and then a night of intense, passionate love making."

Dean found himself reeling as he slogged through his own alcohol-addled mind, trying to remember any of that, all to no avail. His last memory was of nothing more than the usual bar jaunt after a case, and, yes, Cas had been there, but he couldn't remember any type of dinner or passionate anything. There were drinks, that much was certain, and he'd been sitting next to the angel on the stool, checking out the bartender. Then Cas was talking to him, asking him something, but what was it? Why couldn't he remember those words? They were right there on the edge of his mind, waiting if he could just reach a little farther and touch them… "Cas, whatever this is, it isn't right. Something's going on, and I just can't put my finger on it but… there's something."

"What is it, Dean?" he asked, concern evident in his voice.

"Just, do you ever wake up feeling like you're in the Twilight Zone? Like any minute you'll find out everybody else has a pig's head or something? Yeah, that's this moment."

"Dean, everything's okay. Nothing's changed while you were asleep, I promise. And if it has, we'll conquer it together." He spoke with calm assurance as though he really did know this for a fact. And the hunter couldn't help but relax slightly.

"Cas, dammit, I just don't know. I don't know what's going on." He laid his head in his hands, rubbing the heel into his eyes as he hoped for some clarity.

Cerulean eyes held him down as they stared into the deepest portions of himself. It was as though they'd known him for an eternity, that even before he was born, those orbs had watched him while he was nothing more than a gleam in God's eye. And now, they knew what he needed and were willing to give it to him. "I'm going to go and make breakfast, okay? You stay here for a few minutes, and then follow me out. I'll tell you everything you need to know." That tone. Dean knew that tone; it was seductive, scintillating, and exactly the thing used to get any woman fall into bed with you. It was foolproof, alluring, and wholly disturbing when he knew that it was being used on him for the same purpose.

Thankfully, he was spared from answering by the shifting of the bed and the creak of the springs. Good, Cas was getting up and leaving him the privacy his own space. He exhaled a breath of relief, though as he wasn't aware of the angel's state of dress, he refused to turn around or even give the slightest bit of attention to the expanse of white skin that he caught from the corner of his eyes. He didn't see the tight flex of muscle as the bouncing globes moved out of the room, being, for lack of a better word, cheeky.

When the door finally shut, he exhaled a second breath that he hadn't realized he'd been holding.

What the hell was this and what was he supposed to do? How had he ended up in a cheerful, canary yellow bedroom where he'd apparently had sex with Cas, the angel who couldn't even work a toaster?

His mind ran through a marathon of possible scenarios. Obviously, he'd been drunk and not in the right frame of mind at the bar, but why had his friend gone along with it? Had he wanted this to happen? Could the celestial being have secretly had feelings for him all along, and finally decided to act on them? Ugh, these questions continued to swirl around his surprisingly pain-free head.

There was no denying that this utterly changed their relationship. Now, every look, every glance, every touch would be filled with the sordid knowledge of what they'd done, and an awkward embarrassment as they each struggled to live with themselves. Even if no one else found out, they would know and that could be enough to end the friendship that was so painstakingly cultivated. "Son of a bitch!" he shouted to the ceiling.

He wanted to run, to get into his car and drive until he ran out of road. Maybe, then he could think, stop the thoughts and fears that were bouncing, back and forth, energetically in his mind, knocking him from side to side in the process. The more he thought about it, the more he became convinced that it was the best thing to do, but a small voice niggled at the back of his mind, warning him not to, that it would only be a temporary band-aid on this gaping wound.

He knew he shouldn't be but he was seriously considering it. Temporary, wasn't that how he lived? Would it be so bad to run if he felt that was the best alternative? Wasn't it better to leave than to do something stupid and mess up their relationship? Ah, but that voice that had chided him before kept him still. Only the fact that this was Cas kept him rooted to the spot. This was his best friend, his comrade in arms, his confidant, the angel that had given up everything that he'd ever trusted to protect him. He wasn't going to leave Cas like he was just an easy lay that he'd picked up in some side-of-the-road bar. No, he couldn't, he wouldn't. Instead, he would face this as a man and not as a child.

The hunter stood carefully, glad to find that he was indeed wearing his boxers. '_Small miracles for large packages' _he thought as he analyzed his surrounding, absorbing every detail from the bright yellow walls that reminded him of sunshine to the massive white bed that dominated the center of the room like a tainted symbol of they'd just done. Obviously, this wasn't just another rundown motel. From the amount of open space, he supposed it was probably a house or an apartment, though it was somewhat large to be an apartment. A house then, they had just had sex in someone's house. That knowledge shook him for a moment, before he decided to stop overthinking everything. Right now, his only duty was to find out what was going on.

He left the room and padded softly down the hall, his eyes catching every detail in case they may come in handy later. The bright walls were lined with rows of photographs, pictures of him and Sam, side by side, and others of him and Cas, holding hands, laughing, and even kissing. These pictures spanned years, looking as though they dated back to his twenties. "What the hell?" He said aloud. What was this and why was he kissing Castiel of all people? And how did these pictures exist when he hadn't even met the angel yet?

"Dean! Are you up yet?"

The green eyed man shuttered nervously. He couldn't possibly understand what this thing was and what it meant. For now, he was all alone in this confusing world that seemed to be nothing like his own. Until he knew exactly what this was, he couldn't trust anyone, least of all Cas.

"Yeah. I'm up," he nodded, entering the kitchen. It was a large, open room, full of the latest appliances and complete with a comfortable breakfast nook. There was even the stereotypical, homey type of scrubbed wooden table with matching chairs that sat in a corner in front of honest to goodness bay windows. All of this was so outside of the sphere Dean knew that he found himself trembling slightly. It was a home, and not just a temporary resting place, not just another set of rooms and suspicious sheets. It was… something that he'd secretly always wanted, a place of his own that he could rest. "Coffee?"

Castiel, who was still only clad in his underwear bustled about at the stove, turning and moving fluidly from one task to another. Of course, Dean didn't notice any of this as he faced the Keurig, delighting in the refreshing cup and the rush of caffeine through his system. Sadly, his pleasure was short lived due to the crashing reality that had overtaken him in a moment of clarity.

Here he was in the kitchen with his half-naked friend who appeared to have a romantic inclination towards him. There were no words that could magically resolve this situation, nothing that could be said to limit the awkwardness, though he knew that a conversation would be necessary sooner rather than later if they wanted to continue being friends.

Out of everything that he'd endured, he knew what he couldn't. During his life, he'd lost so many people that he loved, his mother, Ellen, Jo, his father, Ash. With all of that in consideration, he couldn't just let the angel walk out of his life, just let him leave as easily as he'd come on the tails of his trench coat. No, he would do almost anything to keep this easy friendship.

He was roused from his thoughts by the warm chest that crashed into his back and the strong, well defined hands that teased at the waistband of his underwear. "Stop!" he screeched, his body stiffening. "Cas! What the hell are you doing?"

"Just trying to give you something before work," he murmured, and Dean struggled to ignore the warm breath that was ghosting across the shell of his ear in the way that always made his hackles rise to attention. His body was betraying him, and he couldn't let it win. This wasn't just another bar girl, this wasn't the time to let himself go.

"Well, stop, okay?" With a rough shrug, he was free to breathe less stifling air. He stood there, braced against the counter, ignoring the feeling of loss as cool air hit his exposed back. "I… just… I can't." He couldn't put it into words, but he couldn't do this. He couldn't be in a relationship with Cas, couldn't do this again, couldn't pretend that everything was normal when it obviously wasn't.

The angel lingered over him, hands held suspended as though he wanted to take the other man into his arms. "You had the dream again, didn't you? The one where you were a hunter that stopped ghosts and monsters?" He shook his head as those blue eyes focused on Dean, concern bright in them. "You're always so tense afterwards, so nervous."

"Dream?" Had his life really been a dream, nothing more than the images conjured by his mind? Had all of the pain and misery been nothing more than a horrible nightmare? No, he'd lived it, experienced every heart breaking moment from the loss of his mother to his brother's trip to hell, from his father's death to the soulless creature that emerged, from hell to now and he knew that no mind, no matter how disturbed, could create something like that. Even the darkest corners had their limits that some light could probe, so he knew that _**this**_ was the dream, the fake reality while his suffering had been very real. "You're saying that it was a dream?" His legs grew weak and rubbery underneath him and he collapsed him, just barely making it to the table.

Cas was next to him in a second, gently holding his hand, trying to keep him rooted to the present. "Hey, it's okay. I'm here, Dean. You know that. I won't leave you."

All the other man could do was nod, because breathing was difficult. His shoulders and chest were heaving as he struggled to regain his grasp on his world. In the midst of all of this, he remembered the months directly following his mother's death. There had been the panic attacks that had been dangerous, frightening moments when he found himself curled in a ball, panting for air and clawing at his throat as he struggled not to black out. This was just as bad if not. He could see black edges at the corner of his vision, slowly coming closer. He was going to fall under the veil, he could feel it coming to him…

"Breathe with me." Blue stared into green with such a potent amount of reassurance and… love. Love that even in the midst of his panicking the hunter couldn't resist and his ragged breath fell in line with the other man's. Inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale. He closed his eyes focusing only on the steady breaths and the steady hand that held his. For a moment, he lost himself, wholly concentrated on the man that was acting as a cable and holding him to this world. "Breathe, it's okay. I'm here, Dean." And he was there. He was a solid rock, a fortress, a foundation, and exactly what Dean needed in that moment. As long as Cas was there, he knew that he had a chance.

It was nearly ten minutes later before Dean had managed to get his breathing under control enough to speak. His voice and his body was shaky as though he'd just been through an ordeal. Which, consequently he had been. He could feel exhaustion in his bones, quivering and taut beneath his skin, down to the very core of his bones. If he closed his eyes, he knew that he'd fall asleep and stay that way for hours, perhaps even days. "What was that?"

"Another panic attack. The first in almost a year, though I'm not really surprised as today tends to have varying affects on you." Cas remembered the first one that he'd ever seen. Dean was lying on the floor in a tight ball writhing, and it had taken him almost two hours to calm the man down. He hadn't known what to do, feeling the situation out with his own perception as he talked, rocked, and murmured to the man. Surprisingly, he eventually got Dean to calm down, and come back to him. When he'd looked into those green tear filled eyes, he made up in his mind that he always wanted to be there, that he always wanted to be the one to make him feel better.

Dean absorbed all of this, wondering what was wrong with him. What sort of trauma had he suffered that could cause all of this if there weren't monsters here? "Why?"

The blue eyed man shook his head in gentle acceptance. "You're so bad with dates. It's our anniversary, remember?"

Anniversary, anniversary. With a startled gasp, he noticed the ring on Castiel's left hand. The silver band was simple with a few meager diamonds that were most likely cubic zirconia, but that wasn't what held his concentration. He was more focused on the inscription on the side; it was his name 'Dean' in calligraphic script, pretty and ornate in a way that he would have normally considered to be cheesy or overdone. Though he couldn't deny that it had a certain style that he didn't absolutely hate and didn't wholly object to. "Yeah, anniversary," he mumbled. As much as he wanted to rebel, to yell and scream that this was all a lie, he realized that it was better to play along at least until he knew what was going on. Because, while it wasn't reality, it was real to Cas, and that was all that mattered. He just had to keep it together. He knew that he could hold out for just a little longer, just until he understood all of this mess.

"Four years married, and as of today, eight years since you first came out to everyone." A dreamy expression passed over those sky colored orbs as he took a moment to celebrate nostalgia. He remembered when he first met Dean, just another face in the bar, but somehow they'd found each other. One, out and proud, the other straight and afraid yet willing if given the right push. And what a push it was. Those first few years had been a whirlwind of emotions and passion, and somehow it had managed to remain between just the two of them, a secret, until at last Dean had stepped forward and told everyone what they were to each other.

Cas had never expected that, to be loved as he was. He'd never expected Dean to be so generous, so caring or for every touch to excite him as it did. Because, he'd never felt that way before. Every glance, every smile sent raw shivers raging down his spine and made his toes curl in delight.

However, Castiel had also been there for the pain. He'd held the strong man to his chest and let him cry, then he'd wiped the tears from his eyes. He'd supported him through family crisis and tragedy. They'd both made sacrifices for each other, and there were nights that neither of them slept, they just sat together, hands entwined as they stared at the ceiling. And others, they talked until the sun rose, told each other secrets that no one else knew. In that room, with each other, they were safe. When there was no one else, Dean had always been able to lean on Cas, to depend on him to save him from himself.

"We're together," Dean mumbled. When considering the evidence, there was no way around it. In this twisted mess, these two had begun a lasting relationship. From Cas's concerned glances, he could only suppose it was a very powerful one. If only he knew the hows and whens so that he could find some way to rationalize it in his head. Because maybe the facts would make all of this come together in some form of sense that would solve the mystery of everything.

"I love you, Dean, and I wish you didn't have to go to work today, so I could show you just how much…" the innuendo in his voice was clear and sent rolling shivers down the hunter's spine. He could feel a tingle in his abdomen and a desire somewhere in the farthest corners of his mind. _No_, he reasoned. It wasn't Cas, it was his raw nerves, making him susceptible to his friend's advances. He only needed to focus, to resist until he could escape the close confines of the kitchen and find fresh, non-hormone laden air.

"Yeah, but somebody's gotta bring home the bacon… I need to go to work."

The angel sighed and pulled away with a resigned pout. "You're right. Bobby's probably waiting for you now. Go on. I already packed your breakfast." Cas handed his partner his breakfast and leaned in for his customary and tender kiss, only to receive Dean's cheek instead. He was far from daunted as he tried again, only to receive the same treatment. "And what was that?"

The hunter smiled warily as he tried to focus on anything but those pink lips and the raw feelings that the stubble had left behind. "Work… gotta go… don't want to be late."

"Ah, fair enough. I'll be waiting when you get here," he smiled. If there was one thing that Castiel understood, it was Dean Winchester. He knew when his partner needed his space, especially after an attack of that magnitude and so provided him with it. After all, it had been a traumatic morning for the human, and the last thing that Cas wanted was to accidentally push too hard and hurt him. Because as much as he would have liked to kiss Dean, he cared more about catering to his mental and emotional needs than his own selfish physical ones. It was this that made Cas the best mate, he was always considerate, always guarding his Dean and protecting him even when the man wasn't protecting himself. "Have a good day."

"Yeah. You too." Dean wandered outside, more confused than he'd ever been. This was all too much for his mind to attempt to decipher. One minute he was in a bar and the next he finds himself in a four year marriage to Castiel of all people.

How many hundreds of times had people taunted the two of them? How many times had he had to explain that he wasn't gay? How many times had he shrugged it off as nothing? Of course, they'd been teased for their "profound bond", but there had never been anything but friendship between the two, the close camaraderie that was born when two individuals risked their lives for each other time and time again. If there was more he couldn't remember it, couldn't remember a time when he'd…

No. He couldn't, he wouldn't allow himself to focus on this. Instead, he devoted his attention to the hum of his baby below him and the familiar weight of the steering wheel in his hands. All of this was comfortable, a normality in a world where such things didn't exist. From his own experience, it seemed that the Impala was the only constant in his life, never changing, never evolving, simply being exactly as it had been when his father had first given it to him all of those years ago. It didn't have a soul to lose, it wasn't broken, it wasn't confessing its love to him. It was just moving along the gray stretch of road, elegantly sliding past the other traffic.

He drove along, not knowing exactly where he was going, but following some strange urge to move in one direction until his mental map stopped and he found himself parked in front of a nicely finished garage. The discrete sign read 'Singer and Son's Automotive'. A car shop. It was fitting that he would work here, using his hands to do the things that they did best, create and maintain beauty.

Upon entry of the establishment, he found himself surrounded by the familiar comfort of automotive parts. The carnage of engines and shiny tools were littered about him in an organized disarray that made him smile fondly. And best of all, he could see that cars were raised above him as men worked at them.

Dean felt his hands itch when he spied a 1969 Camaro. He wanted nothing more than to open its innards and take care of it, piece by piece. "She's a beaut, isn't she?" Bobby asked from where he'd appeared at the younger man's side. Dean smiled at the bearded, gnarled face of the man who'd always been like a father to him. It pleased him to know that despite the madness that surrounded him in this place, this one, crotchety man would always be the same rather grumpy individual that he knew and loved. He would always be the guy who taught him to throw a ball and shoot a rifle, who taught him how to swim and how to properly hold a crossbow, who'd taught him twenty ways to decapitate a monster and taught him how to be properly smooth when it came the ladies.

"Yeah, all muscle and sleek lines. And an engine with a hum out of this world," he mused. He really wanted to slide beneath this metal god and pay homage by allowing his hands to praise it with hard work and dedication. He would be gentle and he would be kind as his fingers trailed along her undercarriage, extracting all of her precious secrets with the promise that he'd never reveal them.

"Speakin' of muscles and hummin', how's Cas?" The hunter stiffened, refusing to turn from the car. This, the metal and mechanics, he could handle, but anything dealing with the insanity of this morning was an impossibility. He wanted to lose himself, forget about Cas and this supposed relationship that they had, because if he thought about it, he may lose what was left of his already precarious sanity.

"Good. He's good." It was a noncommittal answer that could mean anything, and hopefully would be enough to get the older man to leave him alone.

Or not. "Excited for tonight?"

"Y…yeah, he's like a hamster in a wheel, really excited." Too excited in ways that Dean couldn't possibly understand nor did he want to. Out of it all, he refused to attempt to ponder the meanings of what Castiel wanted from him, whether it was emotional or physical. Physical, he shuddered as nothing that he imagined could be worse than that.

Bobby's hazel eyes narrowed. If there was one thing that he was good at, it was reading Dean. Over the nearly thirty years that he'd been doing it, he'd rarely been wrong. He'd been there for Dean's breakdown, watched his boy shudder in a mass of tears. He hadn't even allowed Bobby to touch him or come too close. The older man couldn't help but admit that he'd been worried, and blamed himself for not seeing it before. He was the boy's second father for God's sake. How hadn't he seen how John and Mary's deaths would affect him? How hadn't he seen the cracks that had formed? When he finally realized what was happening, it was too late for him to do anything, thankfully, someone else had picked up where he'd failed.

After Cas had put him back together, Bobby had made up his mind that he would watch more carefully than he'd ever done before. He'd be damned if anything like that slip up on him again.

Now, what he was seeing in front of him disturbed his peace of mind. There was a recognizable tightness in the boy's posture, a jerking pulse in his jaw and weariness in his heart. It was now or never, time to stop it before it could begin. "Son, are _you_ okay?" he asked, laying a concerned hand on his shoulder. "It's your anniversary, and I've seen death row prisoners happier than you are."

"I don't know, Bobby. I'm just… I don't know…" There was a multitude of things that he wanted to say. He wanted to let his mentor know that he didn't belong here in this life with Castiel. He wanted to remind him of their lives as hunters, recount the hundreds of adventures that they'd bravely embarked on, but somehow, in the bright sunshine, surrounded by normality, it seemed heinous to even attempt to drag up the monsters that stalked the night. This was neither the place nor the time to delve into such darkness, and so he let it go, choosing to say nothing at all.

"You and Cas fighting?"

The green eyed man chuckled. If only it was something so simple as a lover's quarrel with his partner. No, it was the fact that he shouldn't have a partner at all. This wasn't him, wasn't who he was supposed to be. It couldn't be. The Dean that he knew spent his night in the company of good women, warming their beds. He had sex indiscriminately, he drank, and he did dangerous, stupid things, but he didn't fall in love. Not with a man, not with Cas. "No. We're great, I guess…"

Bobby had known him too well to fall for another of his lies. He could hear and feel the slippery quality in his tone, that this was not the truth, but he couldn't let him get away with this. He wouldn't be responsible for another bout of broken Dean. "You guess? What the hell does that mean?"

"It means that I don't know, Bobby. I just don't know with all of this anniversary stuff. What if… I don't know…. What if none of this is real?"

The older man sighed heavily. The doubt. It couldn't be the doubt. He couldn't go back to those first days when the younger man was ready to withdraw at the slightest sound, when he'd almost destroyed his relationship with the only person who'd ever loved him. "You need to relax and get yourself together before you do something you'll regret. Let me tell you what you're going to do. You're going to get to work, then go to lunch with Sam like you planned, come back, work, then you're going to go home to Cas, talk to him, tell him you love him, then do whatever you usually do that I don't even want to think about, and you're going to be okay. Understand me, boy?"

For once, his mentor's advice didn't help to set him at ease. If anything, it only put him more on edge as he was obviously expected to be this person that he didn't even know anymore. "Yeah, Bobby, thanks."

"You're welcome. Now get to work. I don't pay you to stand here running your mouth." He fondly squeezed the youngster's shoulder, infusing the gesture with all of the love and support that he could muster. Though he didn't' say it enough, he was quite proud of the man that Dean had become and the family that he'd started. In every way, he'd found a happy ending in someone's arms and Bobby would be damned if he let anyone, even Dean himself, mess it up. "Idjit."

All the while, the man in question lost himself in the finer inner workings of the vehicles. He treated each one with a gentle respect, goading and teasing them just enough to get the response that he wanted. Because, as his father had taught him, a beautiful car was like a good woman. If treated gently, taken care of, and loved it would flourish, but if mistreated, they became rusty and maladjusted.

With that lesson in mind, Dean became just as gentle of a mechanic as he was a lover. Every piece was a treasure, a tiny nugget of gold. He fine-tuned it, making it the best he could, shining each in turn until everything was perfect. His job was its own reward. It took more than just quick hands. The mind and eyes also had to be sharp as some problems were easily overlooked without the proper training.

Dean had amassed that considerable knowledge in a small space of time. It was one of the few lessons that his father had ingrained in his head. From ten years old, he'd been forced to change the oil, fill her up, and keep Baby in peak condition. It was his duty and his passion. Now, in this world, he'd managed to make a career of what he knew best and from all that he'd seen, he was happy there.

Happiness. It felt like a foreign concept, a theoretical notion that didn't exist in the real world. As he'd learned from his own experiences, all he could hope for was a fleeting sense of contentment. After a long hunt or after a particularly rousing night of triumphant sex, Dean would sink into the confines of his mind and feel sated, content though also full with the knowledge that this was only a temporary measure. As soon as this afterglow had faded, he would wake back up in the painful misery of the life that he'd been given, and know that this was his reality.

But somehow, the him of this world had broken down all of the conventions that he'd clung to. Somewhere in the midst of all of this normality, there was a spark, the possibility of something great. In his mind, he could imagine learning to love this. Working in the garage, living in a home instead of a cheap motel, having something to be dedicated to other than the job that he'd trained for. Maybe… and he hated himself for even considering it…but maybe just maybe, he could get used to this. Maybe, he could learn to love this life if he was given the chance. After all, it couldn't be so bad, not if it meant that he was finally free.

"Hey, man, lunch time."

Dean reluctantly straightened up from the vehicle that he was working on. "Yeah, just let me wash up first." The Sam of this place was so much like his own. Overly large with long hair and a teasing smile, though there was one key difference that slightly bothered the elder sibling. His usual monstrous plaids were replaced by the tight, tailored monkey suit that cost more than he made in a week. "Whoa, Sammy. Did someone die?"

"Two people, actually. I just finished settling their estate, so lunch is on me." He smiled in that mischievous way that was uniquely Sam, and Dean felt reassured that everything was going to be fine, because it seemed as though that was the one thing that would never change despite their circumstances. They were the Winchesters and they would take care of each other, always be there for each other, because who else would?

"Can't say no to that. I'll make sure to order the steak," he grinned as he made his way to the large, metal sink on the back wall. He scrubbed his hands and arms free of the oil and grime of the day, watching the black rust slip down the sink with dark remnants clinging hungrily to the metal. It was rather poetic how something so dark could be so easily washed away, however life didn't work that way. The darkness remained, clung for all it was worth to its victim, and only let go once he or she had exhaled their last breath.

"C'mon, Dean. I'll even let you drive," the younger Winchester beamed. He enjoyed this the most, time with his big brother. The years before Cas had been rough on them all, but none had taken the losses quite like Dean. It was so typical, the refusal to deal with complicated emotions even as he'd been falling, sinking, and unable to say anything about it. But Castiel had seen through all of that barbed pain, and pieced him together again. He'd raised him from the mires or perdition like some avenging angel and slowly repaired the cracks in ways that even Sam couldn't. It was only now, eight years later, that things were finally taking on some semblance of normality, and whenever he saw his brother smile or laugh, he felt a weight lift off of his shoulders and his own smile widen slightly.

"Of course I'm driving," he snorted. "Think I'd trust you with Baby? Not in that monkey suit."

Sam shook his head. His wardrobe was always a source of contention from his brother who was fortunate enough to always be allowed to dress in casual, comfortable clothing. Though, he couldn't deny that he'd much rather have his suits than exist as constantly sweaty. Ugh, that was a life that he couldn't possibly imagine.

The two brothers rode together in comfortable camaraderie. There was something about this time together that felt too much like hunting to Dean, with the only difference being the absence of an armory in the trunk. Though, he supposed it wasn't so bad, not as long as he got to sit in this small, quiet diner with his baby brother, with all cares gone to the wind.

It was exactly the kind of place that Sam and Dean would frequent. Small, classic, red vinyl booths, and attractive waitresses in short skirts. It was the place that boasted the best burgers and pie in the area, and probably had a steady clientele. It was the place that people found by accident, but kept coming because of the service and the food that was greasy and artery clogging, but delicious. "Can I help you?" the busty brunette asked, pen poised over pad as she labored under the yoke of professionalism, all while making love to the boys with her dark, mysterious eyes.

"Yeah, I'll take the bacon burger with cheese, and a beer," Dean ordered without even having to look at the menu. In general, he didn't diverge from that. Though it may not have been the most healthy choice, it was his own because when you lived as a hunter, even the next moment wasn't promised to you. If he was going to die young, then dammit, he was going to die happy.

"Okay, and you, sir?" She turned to Sam, her eyes scanning his body as though she wanted nothing more than to see it naked and thrusting above her.

"The grilled chicken salad, please."

"Very good. I'll be right back with your orders," she murmured as she turned and walked away, her body swaying just enough to catch any man in the area's attention. As a hot blooded male, Dean couldn't help but glance appreciatively, though he was quickly brought back to earth by the long-haired man that sat across from him.

"Dean, what's going on with you? And none of that 'I don't know what you're talking about' crap," Sam said sternly. He'd been through this since they were kids. He knew that Dean saw him as the younger brother, someone that needed to be protected, so he couldn't open up about his problems for fear of hurting him. But Sam was an adult now, a man. He wanted to help, and he knew that he could if he was given the chance. "Seriously, what's wrong?"

For a horribly tense moment, Dean thought about telling his brother the truth, that he didn't belong. There was nothing that he wanted more than to trust this Sam as he trusted his own, to pour all of the angst of his soul onto the table and allow him to pick it up. But upon second consideration, he realized that it would be no good. No, he needed to research this first before he dragged the other man into it and ruined his life.

It wasn't that he was hiding anything or even that he didn't trust him, but he needed to make sure that everything was okay before he brought this man who was obviously no hunter into the middle of this mess. Just a day or two and he would have this figured out and know exactly what to do. "Geeze, Sammy. What makes you think something's wrong? Can't I just be quiet for once?"

"You haven't mentioned Cas once. Usually, by this point, you'd have made me mildly uncomfortable with information from your sex life." The larger man shook his head, trying to clear those residuals from his mind. He hated to think about all of the stories that had ruined his peace of mind, and forever changed the way that he looked at his brother in-law. "Is everything okay with you two?"

"You realize I'm with _**Cas, **_right? Cas, Cas. Like _**Cas**_, male Cas, right?" He tried to emphasize his meaning clearly so that even his brother could understand. Hell, so that he could attempt to understand. Because, even now it still boggled his mind that of all the people, male or female, it was Cas who had somehow managed to snag his heart.

"Please, don't tell me we're doing this again." Sam let out a tense sigh as he reclined in the wooden chair that creaked loudly from his weight. He shook his wooly head, trying to stave off the headache that was brewing on the periphery, just waiting for its opportunity to take him over.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean this!" He gesticulated wildly, his voice rising slightly. "You remember when you first came out, first got together? You really did a number on him and I don't want to see you do that again, not because of some crazy, seven year itch!"

"Eight," Dean corrected quietly. His mind was spinning as he considered himself with disgust. Apparently, he'd hurt Cas before and that idea bothered him, perhaps, more than even his marriage did, because if there was one thing that Dean Winchester couldn't imagine it was hurting anyone. Especially Cas, the innocent, almost naïve angel that he'd grown to care for. It seemed like the blackest evil to do anything to hurt that man, and shatter the seemingly indestructible faith that he had in humanity and in Dean. "And don't worry. I won't… I can't hurt Cas."

"Look, I know things have been rough for the last few years, and you're still healing. I get that." He paused, his eyes riveted on his brother, searching for some sign of relapse. He'd been there, just a helpless bystander as Dean crumbled in front of his eyes. He tried his best to comfort the man with words and actions, but they only pushed him closer and closer to the inevitable edge. After a while, he almost felt like giving up and accepting the fact that he'd lost the brother that he'd always known, but he wouldn't, he couldn't. This was Dean who'd been willing to do anything for him, so he had to hold on even tighter than before. And hold on he did, just long enough to see Castiel change his brother for the better, to bring him back to this world from the edge of the other. It was only after Cas that he began to smile again, began to laugh and to trust them all again. Without the dark haired man, he didn't know where they'd be now. A darker part of him suspected they'd be standing around a green grave, staring at a tombstone marked for 'Dean Winchester'. "Just… if you need someone to talk to, I'm just a phone call away."

"Thanks Sammy. I'm not good with this emotion stuff… it's just… have you ever woken up and just couldn't believe who you were with?"

The larger man smiled. "Lately… yeah, I… I know exactly what you mean."

"Yeah?" Dean couldn't miss that Sam was meaning this in a very different way than he was. It explained why he hadn't checked out the very available and very interested waitress. He had someone of his own. "Oh, I know that look. Who're you seeing?"

Red spread across Sam's face as he stared down at the pitted scratched surface of the table. Thankfully, someone, somewhere took pity on him, and he was spared from answering by the arrival of their food. The waitress was all grins as she did her job, though the younger Winchester brother mostly ignored her existence, and Dean resisted the urge to make a comment, focusing instead on his food.

The two ate lunch as they always did. Sam enjoyed munching his salad while Dean savored in the rich, smoky flavor of the burger, glad that this, at least, hadn't changed. This burger was delicious and had nothing to do with Castiel. It was the first thing all day that was simply his, with no punitive reminders.

For a time, the two men focused solely on their food, both ravenous from their respective hard days at work, but when conversation resumed, it was of a different bent. Instead of loves and lovers, they talked about their work, and the finer parts of tinkering with cars and skirting the intricacies of the law.

It was surreal for Dean to know that his Sammy was, in fact, a lawyer as he'd always wanted to be. Without monsters, he'd achieved all of his dreams and still become a man they could both be proud of. This Sam that was so much the same, yet so different as the light in his eyes hadn't been extinguished by a lifetime of hunting monsters. There was still a pervasive sense of hope, and a lingering air of dreams that made the older man's heart swell in his chest. His brother had accomplished his dreams, and was happy.

All the way back to the garage, he couldn't help but bask in it. His entire life had been dedicated to making sure that Sammy was happy and healthy and it appeared that he'd done just that here. Sam had everything that he could want, a law career, a significant other, and a relationship with his older brother. Dean didn't think he'd ever been quite so happy or quite so proud. Though he was somewhat jealous because he wanted that too.

It wasn't until he'd resumed his position under the car, he realized that he too had managed to find a measure of happiness here. He had a job that catered to his needs, he had his family with Bobby and Sam. He had a home that wasn't just another set of queen beds in another garish motel room. It was a place that was finally his.

"Go on. Take the rest of the night off, and have fun," Bobby said from beside the beast that he was currently working on. He had to admire the good work that the younger man always did. He had a certain way with cars, a natural ability that could bring even the worst clunker back to life, and that was why the older man hired him. It wasn't because of familial obligation. He didn't believe in that. The only reason Dean had a job was because he deserved it, had been earning it since he was only ten years old and first handed a socket wrench.

Dean rolled out from beneath it, staring at the man in shock. Off early? That wasn't the Bobby Singer that he knew, in fact, it was the opposite of what he expected. Honestly, this night must also be important to the mechanic. "Well, thanks, Bobby. I'm almost done here."

"No, you're done now. And before you say anything, I'm more than capable of changing the damn oil. I was doing this before you were even born. So, go to the back, get a shower, change clothes, and have a good anniversary, ya' idjit." Almost reluctantly, Dean complied, going along with it for reasons that even he didn't understand anymore.

The washroom in the back was spacious and comfortable, done in varying tones of cool blue tile and ceramics that had obviously not been chosen by Bobby as his tastes ranged from grungy to grimy on a good day and plain disgusting on a bad one. Much to the hunter's surprise, the water was hot without having to wait for an extended period of time, though even the heat couldn't release the tension in his muscles as he thought about what was waiting for him at home.

In his mind's eye, he could see Castiel waiting for him on the couch or at the kitchen table. The other man would be all smiles and all hands while Dean would stand stiffly in his embrace, unsure of what to do or say. Every murmur, every word would feel wrong because it was Cas who said them, but they would be filled with such fervent emotion, that it would feel like a sin to turn away from them.

Honestly, he didn't know if he could do this. For the duration of the ride home, he felt himself trembling, and not even the hum of his Baby was able to calm him down. He didn't want to hurt Castiel, but this was more than he could hope to handle. Love was something for other people, a feeling, a moment of sudden cosmic realization that he himself had never wanted to feel, because love left one open to attack, left one open to destruction if they let it happen.

'_But this is Cas'_, he thought to himself as he sat in front of his small, suburban home. He stared at the chipper yellow paint, hating it as much as he hated himself for being so selfish, so broken. "Son of a bitch!" he muttered for what felt like the thousandth time that day. Had it been anyone else in that house, he would have gathered what was left of his self-respect and driven away, slept in his car and thought nothing else about it, but this wasn't anyone else. This was Castiel, the angel who had lifted him from Perdition.

He owed the man so much for all of the assistance that he'd given them. Without his help, who knew what state the world would be end. Honestly speaking, at best it would be Armageddon, at worse, there wouldn't be a world to save any more. How could that level of devotion and attention compare with a small amount of fear on Dean's side? No, he couldn't just run away from all of this confusion. He had to do what was best, not for himself, but for the angel.

At least for this one special day that meant the most to him, he could be who he was supposed to be.

With shaky legs, he entered the house, wincing at the loud creak of the door that echoed through the small entry way. His facial expression quickly changed as he inhaled the potent odor of garlic mixed with tomatoes. The scent tickled his nose, drawing him forward into the kitchen, his burger from earlier completely forgotten.

The scent only got stronger the closer he got to the kitchen, so much so that his mouth began to water as he imagined what was waiting for him. "Cas?" he called as he stared around the dark room that was bathed only in the dim glow of candlelight. Shadows danced in the room, falling everywhere and giving off an air of sensual mystery, the likes of which he'd only ever seen in the late night naughtiness of his favorite Casa Erotica films.

"Dean." The dark haired man stepped out of the shadows. To Dean's surprise, he was no longer clad only in boxers, but was now wearing dark slacks that clung tightly to his body and a white dress shirt that he knew had purposefully been unbuttoned at the top so he could catch a glimpse of that toned chest. "How was work?"

"Uh, good. Fixed a few cars, even got to get a handle on the '69 Camaro. Not nearly as nice as the '67, but not much is." Cars. This was a safe topic, one that Dean desperately wanted to continue so that he didn't focus too much on the pale, exposed flesh that was attempting to goad him to action.

"Are you hungry?" he murmured, his voice little more than a purr as he was obviously alluding to more than food.

"Ye…yeah."

Cas gently took his hand, leading him to the table and sitting him down in front of one of two covered dishes. "I made your favorite." He removed the cover with a flourish, revealing a beautifully arranged plate full of five cheese lasagna and a small salad. "Enjoy."

And enjoy, he did. Their meal consisted of little conversation as Dean tried his best to focus solely on the food so as to do it justice. He sat, delighting in the taste of the food as it danced on his palate. The complicated entanglement of the flavors of tomato, cheese, and garlic, filling him with raptures, and even the salad tasted much better than he could have imagined. With salads like that, he could almost understand why Sam liked them so much, though he'd never compare them to a burger.

All the while, he tried to ignore the hypnotic power of Cas's blue eyes. They watched his every moment, smiling and radiating a type of love that Dean knew he could never reciprocate. It was sad almost, but that was the Cas that he knew, giving everything that he had even when he knew it was a lost cause.

"Dessert?" he asked. "I made pie."

"Pie?" Why was all of this so perfect, so… so… Cas?

"It is your favorite."

His favorite. Cas knew him better than he even knew himself, understood his burger and pie obsession, knew the details of his childhood, had even rebuilt his body. "Yes, please."

Dean's slice of pie was more like a slab, large and whole. The first bite made the hunter shudder as he would readily admit that this was the best pie that he'd ever eaten. It was all golden brown crust and perfectly soft apples, drenched in thick, gooey syrup His mouth was spinning on a journey, flying through the air, and sending shockwaves of pleasure through his body and out of his toes. "Mmm," he moaned wantonly. "Amazing."

"Thank you." Cas smiled brightly as he stared in green pools. This was the Dean that he'd fallen in love with. This was the man that he trusted with all of his being, heart, mind and body. His agile finger deftly caught a stray crumb and he brought it slowly to his mouth, sucking obscenely. "I hope you'd like it."

The hunter shivered, attempting to ignore the other man's implications and exactly what that mouth could do if given the chance. "Like it? I love it."

The man's smile stretched across his face. "And I love you, Mr. Winchester. More than I've ever loved anyone else." He scooted closer, grabbing Dean's hand in his own and holding it so that his partner couldn't pull away.

The trapped man tried to fight the pervasive feeling of panic that his instincts had created in him. In his line of work, getting caught was a death sentence. Without careful maneuvering, a restrained hand, could mean an extremely unpleasant end, and so it took all of his self-control to stay still. Because more than anything, he wanted to jerk away from the firm grasp, but he had to keep reminding himself this was Cas. Cas would never intentionally hurt him. Cas was his friend. He would be fine if he just trusted him.

"I can't explain how much I love you. And I know for the past few months we've been talking about children and adopting. I know that you want to, and well… I'm finally ready. Dean Winchester, there's nothing I'd rather do than have a child with you, because despite your reservations, I know you'll be a great father. We both will."

Tears stung the older Winchester's eyes as he thought about the possibilities. Kids had always been a luxury, something that he'd refused to even think about, because he knew the risks and what this life did to people, to children. Hell, until that time with Lisa, he'd never even considered it, all too aware of what it cost to be raised in the life. It meant no soccer games, no school plays, no lasting friendships, constant danger, fear, and an extreme, constant sense of being different. It was one price that he'd always been unwilling to pay, but if things had been different, if he'd been different, he knew he would have enjoyed the light patter of feet. He would have enjoyed every minute of his life, and loved the small person that would come to him with tiny, everyday problems that he could solve one hundred times over. "I… I don't know what to say," he murmured.

"You don't have to say anything."

"Cas, I'm sorry. I'm not trying to hurt you," he whispered, feeling the need to be quiet as though any loud noise could disturb the precarious balance of the air. "And I don't want to screw some helpless kid up." And he knew that any child that he had would be ruined. His own wounds were bloody and open. There was no chance that he wouldn't inadvertently bruise his offspring, show him too much of a world that no one should have to see. After all, his own father hadn't meant to permanently scar him; it was the farthest thing from his mind, but it had still happened and still ruined him.

Those eyes. He felt like they knew him even better than he knew himself, like they'd examined every fragment of his psyche and still, for some reason, found him worthy. Like an x-ray, they cut through the superficial outer layers and saw right down to the core that he tried so very hard to hide from everyone. They knew him, they had found him and pieced him back together, and now they were loving him, caring for him as he'd never known was possible for a hunter. "You've never hurt me, Dean. You love me, just as you'd love any child that we'd have. You'd take care of it, adore it, and know just the right things to say… just like you do with me." Honesty quivered in every syllable that dripped from his lips. He truly believed that Dean was worth something, somehow redeemable. It seemed surreal to the green eyed man, as though this couldn't be his life. How could anyone trust him so much when he was worth so little?

"Thanks, Cas." His voice cracked and a tear slid down his cheek from all that he knew he'd never have. He wouldn't have kids or a family or a wife. He would be a hunter until the day that one of those monsters got him first, and even then the most he could hope for was a quiet corner of hell to be tortured in for the rest of eternity.

"Shhh," his friend urged, gently patting his hand. Dean had almost forgotten that it was being held, and at this gesture, he tensed. Castiel released it just as suddenly as he'd grabbed it, getting up to blow out the candles, taking his time with each until they were plunged into inky darkness.

Somehow, even in the pitch black oppressiveness of the room, he was able to find Dean's hand again, and pull it gently towards the bedroom. "Come on." With only the slightest hesitation, the hunter followed, focusing on anything but the hand in his own or the fact that they appeared to be heading to the dreaded bedroom, the place where he least wanted to go.

Until this point, it had all been innocence. Holding hands, smiles, furtive glances, and that was as far as the hunter was willing to go. He could see a road stretching out in front of him, and as long as he followed it, he would be fine, but any detours could send him careening off the end of a cliff, and ultimately to his demise.

He vainly struggled to find the words to say, to refuse this unspoken offer. Yet, he found himself in shock, unable to say anything even as he was undressed, stripped down to his boxers. He just stood paralyzed while Cas did the same, displaying the toned abdomen and the prominent jut of his hips.

It was funny how here in the bedroom, everything took on different connotations. The blue eyed gaze, no longer felt comforting, but was now predatory, hungry, making Dean painfully aware of their closeness and the lack of clothing as a barrier. In the darkness, with only the light of the moon, Cas's pale skin shone lightly and somehow his voice became impossibly deeper. It was a low growling hum that rumbled throughout the room. "Lie with me, please."

"What?"

"Let me hold you, protect you, love you, just as I have for the past eight years," he begged.

This was another detour, another turn that may lead him down a road that he didn't want to ride on. It was a place that he wouldn't willingly go to, but as he stared into the inquiring blue orbs, he found that he couldn't say no. They were so utterly full of trust and love, of hope that to extinguish that light would be the most horrible crime ever committed, appeased only by the bloodiest and most savage of all death. Because to break that heart would be to destroy, to murder something so pure and complete that even the cruelest of men and monsters would weep.

As a man of heart and morals, Dean couldn't stand be the one to do that. Not when his request was so small and so very innocent. "O…okay." He whispered, all of a sudden, feeling the need to be quiet as though he was intruding on a sacred, holy ceremony.

In all honesty, he wasn't sure about how to go about all of this. Dean had warmed more beds than he could count, spending his nights in carnal pleasure of the highest degree, expending himself until he was a limp, tired body that required rest. As such, he'd held more than his fair share of women. He'd wrapped his arms around them, and let his head rest against soft shoulders. He'd been a source of comfort and warmth, but had never himself been held, never let himself be vulnerable. He didn't know what to expect or that it would feel so…so… good.

Cas was a warm wall of skin behind him, with strong arms that held him close and made him feel all the more concrete because of it. In that grasp, there were no ulterior motives or attempts at subterfuge. There was only Dean and there was only Castiel, resting together in the softness of this bed. There was no strangeness, nothing to be feared as long as this trust existed between the two.

For hours, they rested in silent acknowledgement of one another, content in this peace until, at last, their eyes began to grow heavy and their bodies began to demand payment for the toll they'd taken throughout the day. Bright eyes faded and closed for just a few seconds before preserving just enough to snap open for another brief length of time before the need to rest would overcome them again.

At last, Cas resigned himself to the fact that he was indeed falling asleep and that fighting it was futile. "I love you, Dean," he murmured before he slipped out of consciousness.

"Mmmm," his husband murmured, unable to say it back. Because, if he was being honest, he did love Cas. The angel had come to mean so much to him. He was friend, a comrade in arms, a brother, but he was most certainly not a lover. Never in that way.

As he too faded from this plane of thought, his brain murmured one last half thought that warmed the depths of his mind. His last thought before his brain drifted: _This isn't so bad. Maybe, just maybe, I could get used to this._

**A/N:**

**Well! It's the summer before what's supposed to be my freshman year of college, and I know I haven't done as much writing as I was supposed to, but don't fear I plan to donate a good portion of the rest of this time to you people (mainly so I don't self-destruct from mental distress).**

**Anyway, thanks for reading all of this rambling note. I hope you enjoyed this beginning of my first multi-chapter Supernatural story that began as yet another challenge with my best friend. I know it seems weird right now, but stick around. Everything is made clearer in the next chapter. **

**Thanks a lot for reading. Tell me what you think about it! Remember, reviews feed me and I'm not afraid of the flames.**

_**Remember: Reviews= happy camper. Happy camper= quicker updates. Quicker updates= you reading more. It's a cycle keep it going!**_

**Yours truly, madly, and deeply,**

**Einstinette**


	2. Gabbing with Gabe

All Roads Lead to Cas

Chapter 2

Gabbing with Gabe

Emerald eyes fluttered quickly as they attempted to adjust to the glaring light of the room around them. Instead of the yellow walls of the room that he'd fallen asleep in, Dean found himself somewhere entirely different. Where his home had been warm and inviting, this place was the definition of cool austerity, complete with glaring family portraits and wood paneled walls. The floors beneath his feet were covered in thick crimson carpet that nicely matched the cherry wood of the ornate fireplace that adorned the only wall that wasn't covered in bookshelves.

It looked like some glorified library, the expensive room of someone who probably hadn't read half of the books there, the exact opposite of what Cas would like.

"What the hell?" The hunter demanded as he stared at the expensive trinkets that were scattered everywhere. The last thing that he remembered from the night before was Castiel, the warmth of his arms, and the reassuring wall of the angel's chest as he was held. Held. Oh God, he remembered how it felt to be in someone else's arms. In that bed, he'd been safe and wholly appreciated for himself. So, how had he ended up here in this place with only his whirring emotions for company? What was happening to him?

"Dean-o!" A masculine voice shouted, jarring the hunter as he stared down into an infuriating pair of golden eyes. There was a moment of extreme shock as this being wasn't supposed to exist anymore. But he knew that impish grin anywhere. This was exactly who he thought it was. "I missed you, buddy!"

It took every ounce of restraint that Dean had not to punch the archangel in his grinning face. "Gabriel, what the hell are you doing here? What the hell am I doing here?"

"Come on. Have a seat, and I'll explain everything." He gestured towards the convenient corner that was now filled with two comfortable arm chairs.

For a moment, the hunter deliberated, knowing that anything involving this particular angel was never good. But as much as Dean wanted to resist, he needed answers more than he wanted to be angry. All the same, he remained guarded as Gabriel sat with his usual cool demeanor and the flourish of one of his ever present lollipops, inviting his friend to sit across from him. "Go on. Ask your questions. Do the whole grunt and groan thing that you do to hide your emotions, then maybe we'll hug it out."

"Well, let's see… what can I ask you? Oh yeah, aren't you supposed to be dead?" Dean had been right there when it happened. He'd watched the double sneak up behind the devil, the blade raised above his head and ready to plunge it into Lucifer's chest. That was supposed to be it, the end of the apocalypse, but it all happened so fast. Lucifer had spun around and destroyed the younger archangel with his own blade. There was nothing like the sick slopping sound as the blade pierced the flesh of his vessel and his grace poured out in a bright flood of white light. Then he was gone, an empty vessel left like trash on the ground at his brother's feet.

"Dean, Dean, Dean. I'm the trickster. You didn't honestly think I would actually sacrifice myself for _you, did you? _Not after all of these centuries of hiding. No way. I did a spectacular job of faking my death then got the hell out of Dodge. No pun intended. I've been living on the run ever since."

Of course. This was Gabriel, the same archangel that had killed him repeatedly and sent them into the television to get them to 'accept their destinies'. He played by his own, unknown set of twisted rules, and lived by a code of selfishness, doing only what benefited him. "Great. So, you let us fight the apocalypse by ourselves. Appreciate it…" Dean grunted. He was more than bitter as he considered the losses that they'd sustained. Cas, Adam, and the most important chunk of Sam, all gone within seconds, now made worse by the fact that there was another who could have shared in the emotional burden.

But Gabriel was thoroughly unapologetic. As far as he was concerned, he'd done all that he could do for them, and as much as he'd forced himself to care, self-preservation always came first. He'd carefully weighed his options. His life or their creature comforts. It only took a moment of deliberation. After millennia of only protecting himself, it was hard to break character and save everyone else especially when he knew the risks of those actions. So, he'd taken the coward's way out and hidden, but he wouldn't allow himself to be sorry for that, he couldn't if he wanted to preserve what was left of his mental health. God knows he'd abandoned his family before out of fear and weakness, and then he did it again. But he wasn't doing it anymore, he was finally finding a reason to take a stand and fight the good fight. "Hey, I knew you would pull it out in the end. You always do. Why risk my life for no reason?"

"Hmmm, I don't know. Maybe because it was the right thing to do?"

The right thing, that thought made him chuckle. How many evil creatures had justified their actions by declaring it to be the right thing? Had even Lucifer not done the same thing with the same inane justifications? It was a sad and inevitable truth that the right thing and the best often did not overlap. They were subjective, private opinions that varied sharply from individual to individual. They were the swatches of gray that never quite matched to either black or white, they were simply ideals that simple minded people trusted in.

"You're the hero, not me. It was your job, not mine," he shrugged. "Besides you and Samsquatch kind of started it. For your own peace of mind, you needed to finish it. You're welcome, by the way."

Anger raged at the walls of the human's stomach as he remembered the tragic aftermath of that day. His brother, stuck in the pit to be ravaged by Lucifer and Michael for months, and the all-encompassing grief that he bore, knowing that he'd lost everything that mattered. Then there was the soulless creature that he'd lived with, and had even been afraid of. That cold, heartless variation of his brother that still gave him nightmares and could have been avoided had one selfish angel dared to stand up against his brothers in a fair fight. "If you were hiding so well, what's brought you out of the closet now?"

Ah, humans. They never got the intricacy of what he did. It was downright hurtful to put all of this work into a plan and then get no credit from the one person who should be bowing at his creative might. "Seriously, I don't think you appreciate what I've done here. I just managed to sneak us into a shutdown portion of heaven and secure this place against everyone and everything that would want to get in. I deserve a prize."

Ignoring the usual proud diatribe, Dean stopped listening once he heard one particular word. "Heaven? The heaven where the angels live?" Dean demanded, suddenly on alert. The last time he was here, he'd been chased down by Zachariah and his God squad while they attempted to force him to accept heaven's greatest douche-bag into his meat suit. While, he didn't suspect Gabriel was up to that kind of deception, he had to be weary, because as he'd learned, angels all had hidden agendas, and this one was no different. To be safe, he was keeping his ears locked at attention lest he be attacked at any moment.

"Relax! This part of heaven is abandoned," Gabriel chuckled. This was why he absolutely adored humans. They were always so… so worried when they really had little to fear. Look at him. He was the last of the archangels, the most powerful being in the universe short of the Leviathans and God himself. Of all places, it was here that the both of them had the least to be concerned with.

"What do you mean abandoned? How does someone just abandon their heaven?"

"Hey, technology has spread even up here. Smartphones and tablets instead of the good old 'Book of Life', and sometimes mistakes are made. Sometimes, people who're supposed to go downstairs come up, so we just kind of keep it up and running for the next person who might want it. Call it… economization of space."

"And the guy that was here?" Trust Dean to worry himself with the small, insignificant details when there was really so much more to be concerned with. Though, he supposed that's what made the man such a valuable hunter, his ability to care even when he shouldn't. Especially when he shouldn't.

"He's waiting in Crowley's line for the rest of eternity. Poor sap, he just wanted to read his books, but he stabbed just a few too many people… like forty-two… in the neck and face…" Gabriel rolled his eyes at the antics of these free willed humans. Honestly, sometimes it was like watching hamsters on a wheel as they ran around and around, so sure that they were getting somewhere when in reality they never moved. Ah well, those were the breaks he shrugged , popping another cherry lollipop into his mouth. He enjoyed the fresh rush of sweetness that covered his tongue and coursed through his body as he delightedly sucked, trying not to arch his back or curl his toes in pleasure.

"Guess he deserved it," he murmured. "But you still haven't told me why we're here." By now, the hunter was aggravated and suffering from the headache that he only got when dealing with the trickster. Honestly, it was like spinning around in a circle as he struggled to decipher the mess of layered truths that were hiding behind each of the angel's words. His only certainty on the subject was the awareness that there was always a concealed lesson to be taught unconventionally and with a cruel sense of humor.

"For you, Dean, one of my favorite Winchester brothers."

"What?" He demanded. As far as he knew the archangel wasn't the type to do anything for him. He was concerned with himself, and often Sam. So, what could this illusion have to do with helping him do anything?

"I'm here, risking everything to help you help yourself."

That was Gabriel, a cryptic as ever as he attempted to 'teach a lesson', but this time, Dean was not going to play along. For once in their relationship, he had leverage, the trickster's very existence would be a weapon against him. Because he was sure that there were a few angels left that wouldn't be very happy to hear that good, old Gabe had left when they needed him most. Hell, who knows, they might be downright homicidal? "Are you going to explain or just talk in circles?"

"You could be a little more grateful, you know. Here I am, trying to help you and you just come at me with hostility. Geeze, you'd think I'd killed you or something."

This was their friendship (if that was the right word for it), contentious at best and violent at worst. Gabe had run away a long time ago, living only for temporary pleasure that would distract him from his actions. Now, he only knew how to joke, prod, and tease; it was his defense mechanism, his protection, and Dean, on the other hand, wasn't the best at dealing with that when his own defense mechanism came in a shot glass. Ironically, had situations worked out differently, the two may have been best friends, united by a common love of family and a common sense of humor. "Unbelievable."

Gabriel's gold eyes became serious all of a sudden and he stared into the older Winchester's green ones, demanding his full, undivided attention. "Look, I've been lying low, but I've been watching out for you guys and my little, Cassie. And I've noticed that you are mad hot for Casserella."

Red rose to the human's cheeks and suddenly, he found it impossible to stare into those hypnotic, golden eyes. He felt as though his sordid actions from last night were tattooed all over his body, a sign of shame and embarrassment. They were like words printed on his soul, and there for anyone to see. He only wished that he could scrub himself clean and forget that it had ever happened. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Yeah, because you **weren't** snuggling with him last night!" he chuckled. Classic denial had never been so funny as when it sat on Dean Winchester's face. The angel would admit that it was the perfect act, furrowed brows, angry glare, but the red in his cheeks betrayed what even he didn't know.

"What are you? Some twisted voyeur who gets off on watching two grown men?"

Caught in the act, not that he minded. Of course, he'd watched his handiwork unfold, he had to know that everything was going according to plan. "Hey, I was taking it upon myself to help you."

"How was waking up in a bed next to Cas helping me?"

"You love him," the angel paused. He wanted his words to sink into that thick skull, for Dean to actually listen for once, instead of blocking everything out. It was hard to come to terms with all of this, that much he knew, but for all of their sakes it had to be done. "I know you don't believe me, but I really do care about you guys and I want you to be happy."

Ha, happiness. This was how Dean knew that this must just be a dream. No Winchester had ever found even a small piece of contentment as they were always ripped away from their hands and spread on the winds. His father had lost his wife and very nearly lost his sanity as well as he was pulled into a world that he'd never suspected existed. The love of Sam's life, Jessica, had met the same end, stuck on the ceiling and slowly burning, leaving only the acrid odor of flesh and hair until their home was reduced to only gutted memories and a pile of ash. Dean had loved Cassie once, and she'd shunned him for telling her a truth that she couldn't accept. He'd loved Lisa for just that short time when she was all he had, but now knew that she was better off without him. Everyone was, even if it meant that he never got to see her again. Everywhere he went, there was another string of monsters that followed, tearing the brothers' souls and destroyed them from the inside out. What was so happy about that?

"I'd settle for being alive."

Happiness. In front of him, he could see dim visions of moments when he'd smiled and even laughed. All of his memories of joyful times felt as though they belonged to someone else. They were those long forgotten times when his eyes used to shine, when he used to laugh for no reason at all, and have sex indiscriminately, but like everyone else, life, or rather death, had changed him for the worst.

The torture and mind-numbing pain that he'd suffered in hell nearly broke him. He remembered it all, every second, and knew that he'd been torn and shattered in incomprehensible ways. There were so many things that happened that he couldn't even put into words and that sent him into spasmodic shock whenever he allowed himself to dwell on those darkest days, the months that felt like years. It took all of his energy just to conjure up a semblance of a smile every day, to get out of bed and pretend that nothing had changed in him. And even when he was smiling, it sat wrong on his face, feeling as though, with the right pressure, it may crack at any second.

"Against all odds and my best attempts, you're still alive, but you're too scared to admit that you want to bend Cas over and…"

"I'm straight! I like women!" Dean interjected, soundly cutting his companion off mid-explanation. After the previous night, he was finished even allowing the idea to run through his mind. He'd take a woman composed soft curves and long hair any day. He'd love her body, and praise her form, but he wouldn't have any dealings with a certain dark-haired angel, because that wasn't who Dean Winchester was. Above all, the one truth that he knew, he was straight.

"Yeah, say it a little louder and maybe then I'll believe you." He rolled his eyes. "Seriously, you are so far in denial that you _really _just don't know. Like, you're so far in the closet that you're partying with the fauns in Narnia!"

The hunter snorted. "You read those books? Gotta say I'm impressed. I didn't have you pegged as the reading type."

"Yeah, I read. What else am I supposed to do in a library?" He gestured around him to the stacks of books. "Poor Cas. He's not getting one of the smart ones, but I guess pretty ought to be good enough."

"Cas is just my friend, one of the best."

It was true. As a hunter, he wasn't able to make many lasting friends as he lived by the rule that it was more important that both parties stay alive. His father's mistake had demonstrated that the people they loved were most often used against them, killed in a wicked crossfire that should never happen. With that being said, the Winchester boys had quickly learned to value those few individuals whom they were honestly able to call friends. Cas was no exception, and as such, Dean treated the angel better than he treated himself.

When he thought about it, he could admit that there was a certain duality to the angel that he greatly appreciated. Castiel was a warrior who'd fought against the will of heaven and won, renouncing all that he had for his friends. But, at the same time, he was innocent, a fresh, curious mind that was molded with every small encounter and seemingly insignificant experience. Dean would be lying if he said that his innocence, this blind trust wasn't the reason that he liked the angel. After all, who could flinch from that degree of unwavering devotion and nearly blind trust that he gave to a man who didn't deserve it?

"Seriously? Just friends is the best you've got? What is this some high school movie?" Gabriel shook his head in disappointment. "Dude, I've seen you around him. You practically have to sit on your hands to keep from touching him." It was there for anyone to see. The way his hand twitched when the angel was standing close to him. The way that he would do little things like adjust the angel's coat or fix his tie, tiny things that Castiel could do for himself if he was informed. But Dean still chose to do anything that would allow his blunt fingers to drag along equally firm skin.

"If you're so convinced, why isn't Cas here? Why'd you pick me?" Dean was on the offensive, blocking shots with his own quick parries. If Gabe wanted a fight, he'd give it to him, throw questions and demand answers.

"Cassie's never been in love before. He's a virgin in pretty much everything, not that you're much better 'Mr. I-don't-want-to-hurt-anyone-but-myself.' But my point is that he'll never make the first move. You, on the other hand, with the right information, I know you will."

"Virgin?" the hunter scoffed. "I hate to tell you, but I'm a long way from that."

"Ahh," the angel nodded. "So, you've bent over and had your cherry popped already? Sorry, must have missed it."

"Anyone ever tell you, you're an ass?"

"Anyone ever tell you, you look like you _take it_ in the ass?" The angel grinned at Dean's red face. There was a certain pleasure in shutting up the strong hunter, in making him uncomfortable. In all honesty, this was what Gabe had missed the most, just being free to be his slightly snarky self with someone who could take it as well as throw it back at him.

"Will you stop with this word game and get to the point of what exactly it is you're doing?"

Gabriel shook his head in pleasant indulgence, well aware that he could wipe this man from the face of the planet with a wave of his hand. But, for some reason, he refused to. Dean was a good man, who'd lived through more than most people could ever imagine. He'd lost his mother and father, spent his entire life taking care of his baby brother, killed monsters, and done things that would have destroyed a lesser man. His only real defense was a sharp sense of humor and a shot glass full of the finest booze, not that the archangel could blame him. It only made sense that he'd erected these walls to protect what he had left of his heart, but it was sad that he didn't know that one person out there could put it back together again.

"Look, you don't understand. You want to know how I've been hiding? I've been dimension jumping." He paused, waiting for a grand explosion, but received none. '_Party pooper', _he thought to himself. "Sometimes, I get bored, so I find us, see what we're up to in the other universes. And you know what I found? Every time I look for one of you, the other isn't far apart. You don't understand how… amazing this is. You constantly find each other, across space and time. As someone who's watched you two repeatedly, let me just say, it's almost… magical how you always end up together. Well, almost always end up together, because, for some reason, in our universe, you're both a bunch of idiots with your hands stuck up your asses."

"What are you saying?"

The angel sighed loudly. He knew that this was going to be difficult, nearly impossible, but he had to try. More than that, he had to succeed. "Knucklehead, listen up. I'm saying that somehow, you two belong together. You're connected by something other than the angel bond on your shoulder, something so strong that it survives space and time." He grinned. "And I'm going to do you a favor. I'm going to show you some of those other universes, show you what you're missing, and hope you learn something."

The human was reeling, sent farther and farther away with every word the angel spoke. "Let me get this straight. You're sending me on a cosmic exploration to find my 'feelings' for Cas by hopping me from one alternate reality to another for how long?"

"Yeah, now you're getting it! Who said you were an idiot? And as for time, until you learn what you need to learn." A patented pout spread across the human's face. "Don't think of it as a punishment. Consider it a free vacation with paid time off to… collect yourself."

Dean could see the mischief dancing in the Trickster's eyes. He quickly ran through a list of scenarios, hoping for one to avoid all of this, but he realized that he was facing a nearly all powerful being who was already controlling him. And that was the answer, right in front of him. There was no getting out of this, no way to stop him short of killing him. And as he'd learned, this trickster angel was nearly invincible. He couldn't be sure that this was even the real Gabriel. Most likely, that one was resting on a couch in some other reality, watching the show while eating the contents of an entire sweet's shop. "What about Sam? Where is he and what does he think happened to me?"

Gabe took a second to bask in his own in his own brilliance. There was nothing like the intoxicating high of the perfectly planned scheme to excite him. As of now, the game was afoot and Gabriel never lost. "Don't worry about Samsquatch, he's on a vacation of his own. And as for Cas… well, you'll see when you get back."

Sam. The knowledge that the larger man wouldn't be next to him throughout this journey worried him. As a general rule, they were always together, fighting to protect the other. He was the brains, the brawns, and the backup, while Dean was the gun who always got things done in time. Throughout their lives, they'd saved each other a countless number of times, taken care of each other, destroyed monsters, and saved people. Together, they were unstoppable; alone they were useless parts as the archangel well knew. "You touch a hair on his head and-"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Gabe interrupted. "Kill, maim, destroy. Got it. When are you going to understand? I'm not going to hurt you. I have special interest reasons to keep you alive."

Skepticism took root in Dean's eyes. He'd been a party to the angel's 'special interests' one too many times, and knew that it never ended well for them. "Yeah, and how many times did you kill me at the mystery spot?"

"252, but that was to help Sam. Like you would have wanted to." And that was the magical trump card that could always leave Dean Winchester silent. While the archangel's actions hadn't been the most well thought out, they'd all been to prepare Sam for the impending loss of his brother. Whether either of them wanted to admit it or not, it had made him stronger, more able to focus on what needed to be done afterwards. Without that hardening, his heart had undergone, he would have broken down into nothing long before his brother was brought back.

"Fine," Dean sighed, giving in at the thought of his little brother. There was nothing that he wouldn't do for the larger man, nothing at all. He'd proved it with his death, but also with the life that he lived, giving every moment of thought to Sam's well-being. "But doing this isn't going to make me feel something I don't."

"Of course not. It'll make you realize what you already feel."

"Can we just get on with this?" the hunter grumbled. The sooner they finished, the sooner he could return to his own difficult life, and leave behind these distorted carbon copies. "Do whatever you have to do, so I can get back to the real world."

"You'll thank me when this is over," Gabe promised. He could see it in his imagination. Little Dean Winchester and his Cassie, next to each other with bright smiles on their faces as they stared into the other's eyes and murmured 'I love you'. He hoped that it worked out that way, that this wasn't just a waste of his time, because he knew that they needed each other just as a fish needed water. They were each other's oxygen, keeping them both animated. They were each other's roots, keeping them held to the ground. "Just try not to do anything stupid, okay?"

"Waste of time!" he protested yet again, as though this would have any affect on the stubborn angel. "I don't love Cas!"

"Me thinks the lady doth protest too much. Just enjoy the moments and be honest with yourself for once. Trust your instincts and stop all of this self-sacrificing shit."

Dean sat with folded arms, pouting, but also thinking. He'd played these games before, and always managed to find the top spot or at least come out in a draw. As there was no avoiding it, he'd have to play and find a way to outsmart and out trick the trickster. "Do your worst. I'll play with you."

"Don't sound do pitiful. Playing with me isn't the worst, none of my ladies ever complained. Besides, it wasn't that bad before, was it? And just think, if you pay attention you may just learn something." He smiled threateningly. "I'll make sure you do."

"An entire nation-wide educational system failed. What makes you think you can do any better?" he demanded, much to the trickster's amusement.

"Go on, sexy. Go get your man. Just promise me that you'll love him, okay? You both deserve better than you're getting." Another pause. "Good luck."

And Gabe disappeared, gone just as suddenly as he'd shown up. For a moment, Dean was left all alone to think. While he'd questioned himself in almost every area of his life, he'd never questioned his sexuality. He'd always loved women, appreciated their soft, receptive bodies, but men? No, it had never been a factor for him, and he didn't want it to become one now. Not when he could help it.

But even then, he may have been able to handle it, had the man been anyone but Cas. Castiel had been his only friend at some points, but there had never been any sign that the angel wanted to go any farther.

No, he couldn't think about this. He refused to analyze every moment that they'd shared, examining each of them with a fine-toothed comb of suspicion. Every touch, every glance, every laugh, every second… no, he refused to think about it at all.

"C'mon, Gabe. Do your worst. Send me wherever the hell you're going to send me!"

Gabriel, who was listening from the safety of yet another universe, smiled as he snapped his fingers, sending Dean Winchester on what was supposed to be the beginning of something beautiful. He only hoped this worked out the way that he planned. He only hoped that Dean wasn't as stubborn as he appeared, that he gave this a fighting chance. "The ball's in your court now, Dean-o," he murmured. "Don't screw it up."

**A/N:**

**Well! It's the summer before what's supposed to be my freshman year of college, and I haven't done as much fanfiction as I was supposed to, but never fear I plan to donate a good portion of the rest of this time to you people (mainly so I don't self-destruct from mental distress).**

**Anyway, thanks for reading all of this long, rambling note. I hope you enjoyed this first small portion of my first multi-chapter Supernatural story that began as yet another challenge with my best friend. I know it seems pretty weird right now, but stick around. It will all come together in the end. **

**Thanks a lot for reading. Tell me what you think about it! Remember, reviews feed me and I'm not afraid of the flames.**

_**Remember: Reviews= happy camper. Happy camper= quicker updates. Quicker updates= you reading more. It's a cycle keep it going!**_

**Yours truly, madly, and deeply,**

**Einstinette**


	3. Runaway Hearts

**A/N: So, as I was reading over this in the wee hours of the morning, I realized the alternate realities thing can be kind of confusing to anyone who's not inside of my crazy brain. To cut down on that confusion, I'll include a little mini summary at the beginning of each chapter, so you'll kind of know what it's like there. Enjoy and review for me, guys.**

_**Setting- All characters are humans and the main characters are children.**_

_**Dean and Cas- About ten, nearly eleven.**_

_**Sam-Six.**_

_**Cas's story in Italics. Dean's normal.**_

Chapter 3

Runaway Hearts

Castiel was the child that everyone dreamed of having. He was as intelligent, understanding, and adorable as any parent could hope for, leaving one to wonder why he'd been abandoned. His mother, Becky, had disappeared into the unknown shortly after his birth. As a rule, they never brought her up if they could help it, and somehow or another, they always helped it. In every way, she was just a sour memory much like a horrible smell that could sometimes be triggered but was never dwelled on.

His father took up all of the slack that she'd left behind. From the beginning, he had always been gentle and kind, though at times he could become savage. Where his children were concerned, he was watchful and doting until one day, he was just gone. Gone without a trace. They searched, law enforcement searched, there were missing posters and spots on the evening news but it seemed as though there was no one to find.

The searching finally ground to a screeching halt as people decided that enough of their time had been wasted. He was simply gone, presumed dead by the world at large. After a disgustingly long time without any new information, even his children stopped looking for him, because they felt there was just no hope. It was an inescapable fact. He was gone and never coming back to them.

Cas was just six years old at the time of his disappearance, and he took it especially hard. He'd ask for his father and be gently reminded that his father had left. At first, he couldn't understand it. Surely, the man that had taken care of them and loved them had to be just around the next corner. It was a game of hide and seek and they just weren't looking hard enough. He had to be there, right out of the line of sight. But he wasn't, and Cas had to accept that in order to move on.

As small children of ten often do, he blamed himself. Sadly, no one reassured him as his guardians, his older brothers couldn't spare time for things like that.

Michael was all about keeping the family together, doing whatever he felt was best, despite whom it hurt, while Lucifer was much the same as he'd always been, impetuous and headstrong. The only common ground that the two had managed to find was in their dedication to raise Castiel, though their approaches differed. Michael believed in a firm hand and in deep respect while Luci preferred subterfuge and manipulation to get what he wanted.

Cas often found himself stuck in the middle as the two raged around him. The arguments ranged from silly things like tooth paste or dish detergent to more serious situations such as bills or doctor's appointments. However, their most frequent argument was over their father. The oldest D'Angelo believed in their dad, worshipped him even. In his mind, he was the loyal son, doing what had to be done. On the other hand, Lucifer resented the man that had left them. He alone was convinced that the man had long since settled down with a new family, abandoning them as though they were nothing at all.

*****LineBreak*****

Dean was always afraid to trust people. In the short ten years of his life he'd been disappointed more times than he could count. People came and people left, all with promises that they'd never had any intentions of keeping. Even the people that he loved most… even his dad who'd said, "I'll never hurt you, son." Even he had lied.

His mother, Mary, had died when he was four years old. Even now he could still remember that night with vivid clarity. A balmy November night in the sleepy town of Lawrence, Kansas, and he'd just been tucked in and told his favorite story about the little Impala that could. Her soft lips had touched his forehead and she'd softly shut the door behind her.

Next, she went into little Sammy's nursery. It was the night that he'd turned six months, and he was kicking and smiling as if he knew that the evening was a special one. His toothless smile stretched across his face as Mary ran her hand over her baby's soft, supple cheek. "Night, Sammy," she murmured as she kissed him. "Sleep well, sweet heart." And she left the room, leaving the door open in case he started crying in the middle of the night as he often did.

"Good-night, honey," she said to her husband. In the past few years of their marriage, he'd aged. His muscular body had gone to seed as the previously toned physique was now soft and slightly lined in ways that she'd never expected. But she found that no matter how he changed physically, she only loved him all the more for it. Despite physical appearance, he was hers. She'd made the ultimate sacrifice by leaving her home and changing herself for this man who had done nothing but trust and love her even when she didn't deserve it, so she'd be damned if she gave it up because he'd gotten older just as they all had.

"Good-night," He kissed her gently on the lips, lingering for just a second. She was as beautiful as the day they'd met. All blond hair and shining eyes that existed only to haunt his dreams. It still seemed impossible that two people who were so different could be so perfect together, almost like they were specially made just for the other. While her body now bore lines from her two pregnancy, he loved her all the same, appreciating the subtle changes that motherhood had wrought.

This was the life that he'd always wanted for himself. He had his wife beside him and his children sleeping down the hall, minds full of impossible dreams that he would do all he could to make possible. And as he shut his eyes for the night, he knew that this moment was the best his life would ever be.

The family slept peacefully, so entrenched in the safe life that they lived, never suspecting that anything could go wrong. It was silent there, the kind of silence that was always a precursor to a tragic event. So tragic that it would utterly destroy this little family and leave behind desperate dregs of hopes and dreams.

It began with the sparks. Electric wiring gone wrong that started the fire. Maybe it was the smoke or maybe it was just a changing feeling in the air, but little Sammy opened his large hazel eyes and began to wail, a loud keening sound that echoed through the house.

Somewhere down the hall, Mary's eyes shot wide open as she heard the fear in his voice in the way that only mothers could. Immediately, she sat and inhaled the deep black smoke that had spread through the air. "John," she cried, half startled, all sleep long forgotten. "Get up! Get up! The house is on fire!" Her voice was hysterical as she tried not to scream.

John was immediately alert, on his feet in seconds as he ran to Dean's room, rousing the resting child. Meanwhile, Mary went into the nursery, grabbing Sam and holding him tightly as though he could slip away at any second. The family met in the hall, trying to get out of the house that was burning up all around them. With the billowing black smoke surrounding them, the familiarity was distorted and it became impossible to discern one thing from another.

"Get to the floor!" the man yelled, pushing his son to the ground and his wife dropped behind him, keeping a tight hold on her baby boy. "We're going to crawl forward, careful until you feel the stairs."

The process felt irritatingly slow as they moved cautiously, the only sounds were the crackling flames and the loud echo of Sam's howls. Despite this slow feeling of being stationary, they finally made it to the door. "John, I have to get it," Mary hissed. "I have to get it now."

"Mary!" he yelled, his voice full of a powerful demand. "Don't! It's not worth it!" He was silently begging her not to leave them, because without her they were nothing, and he knew it. He couldn't raise two boys by himself.

"I'll be right back, I promise." Her eyes were earnest and full of some indiscernible emotion as she handed Sam over to his father. Her bright eyes stared into his soul, and he found that he had to look away from the sheer force of those blue orbs that he'd loved since what felt like forever.

"No!" he shouted as he took his son. While his mind may have been protesting, he knew that there was no stopping her when she got started. He'd always admired her steadfast determination, and willingness to do what she felt was necessary. It was why he'd married her in the first place, so how could he expect her to stop now at this moment when she felt was the most crucial?

"I love you," she whispered in a tone that seemed to say good-bye. He only hoped that she wasn't. "I love all of you so much." With that last phrase said, she turned and ran back up the stairs, never looking back at her family.

John watched her move, his dark eyes wavering between right and wrong. To leave her could be to damn her, while staying could be the end of his boys. There had to be a way to save them all. If only, he had more time to think…

"Dean, take your brother. Go outside!" John ordered. He handed the infant to his big brother, trusting Dean with both of their lives while he ran back upstairs to get his wife. All he could think about was Mary and all he knew was that she was in danger and it was his duty to protect her, just as he'd promised in his vows.

Without hesitation, Dean ran outside into the fresh, cool air, cradling his Sammy to his chest. The house in front of them was burning in crackling yellow and orange flames. Flames that were slowly eating away at their home. The pressure was building inside and out and the fear was blinding as Dean waited patiently for some sign that his family was okay. Finally, their father dashed out of the inferno, his face gaunt and sweaty. Just as he exited, the window upstairs blew out in sparkling shards of scalding glass that fell to the earth in an arching spray like raindrops. Dean sat, waiting for his mother, expecting to see her blond hair and shining eyes at any second, but she never came.

John scooped them up in his arms, running away from the debris with swollen tears in his eyes. The rest of that night was a blur of adults talking and people asking if they were okay. But how could they be? They'd lost the one person who'd held them all together, and now they were floundering to answer questions that had no real answers. Questions that they never really asked out loud, because they were too afraid to face them.

They didn't speak about it much after that night, and they never went back inside of that house. Mary never came out of that place and they never found out what was so important that she was willing to risk her life for it. If John knew he wasn't sharing, mostly because he found that he couldn't. God knows they'd asked John a million times, and each time he'd stare at them with tired, aged eyes and shake his weary head. Before long, they stopped asking, knowing only one thing as truth. They'd lost her and therefore lost themselves, left with only their father and foggy memories of what they used to have in that little house.

Everything he saw and heard reminded him of Mary in some way. Everything from the sunshine to the rain, from old songs to clouds in the sky, from children's laughter to late night television. The soft blond of her hair, her easy smile, the gentle tug of her hand across his cheek. He'd loved her so much that he couldn't stand being surrounded by her presence every day. So, they moved from place to place, packing up on a whim. One moment everything would be fine, the kids would have just settled in with school and a sense of satisfaction, but sooner rather than later John would feel the relentless itch and they'd be on the road again. Back to spending a few days stretched across the back seat of the Impala. And when they'd landed, it was another round of registering for school and getting settled just to do it all over again.

Through all of this, young Dean had grown up with the knowledge that it was his responsibility to protect the family when his dad as out on another bender. And when John returned, he was there with a cup of water and two extra strength aspirins. When the older man cried, he was the one to clasp his shoulder and tell him that everything would be okay.

He took care of Sammy, making his lunches, dressing him, getting them both to school on time. He helped Sam with his homework and made sure that he got to go on field trips. He was there every night to scare the monsters away and tell his brother, "I love you." He made excuses for John and told him all the stories he remembered about Mary. In every possible way, he was the caretaker of his small family, the ten year old father that kept it all together while no one suspected that it was secretly too much for the youngster to handle, too much for any one person to bear.

*****LineBreak*****

There was a certain macabre elegance in the sprawl of large cities, a certain dark charm in the tall buildings and congested traffic. A beauty in the crowded meccas that everyone was dimly aware existed even though it was never spoken of as most people would rather lament the record crime rates. Of course, anyone can find danger around any corner, if they're looking and especially if they're smart enough to not be.

Young Castiel knew that his city was dangerous and frightening even, but he lived on the periphery out in the suburbs where nothing could hurt him. There, he was safe from crime and negative influences, but the child wasn't necessarily happy with that kind of sheltered life. He desperately craved to know the city, to move through its innards unscathed, to interact with its people and be a member of that illustrious community for just a small amount of time.

It was the forbidden fruit, and he wanted to taste it for the flavor was assuredly sweet. Perhaps, intoxicating, but the young man had never had the chance to as Michael was strictly against it. It was too much like losing control, like losing the suffocating grip that he'd wrapped around the boy's neck.

While Cas had yet to do more than pass through the city, even Michael couldn't restrain his fanciful imagination. He saw himself out there, blending in and living free. There, life was unrestrained, and people could do what they wanted and be who they wanted to be. More than anything that was what the boy wanted. Choice, freedom, some reason to keep going instead of this clichéd image of what his brother taught him to be.

*****LineBreak*****

Home was a transitory location, the place where the head rested at night and the heart resided during the day. Rarely, it was a friend's soft bed, though more often, it was a blanket and a pillow on the back seat of the Impala or a grubby bed in a cheap motel room. They were temporary living spaces at best and at worse they were a pit stop to a final destination that was just as negligible as those that came before it.

That was what the Winchesters were used to. So, when the sleek, black car pulled up in front of a nice, white-washed house, Dean couldn't help but be suspicious.

The last house that they'd live in alone was in Lawrence on that night that everything changed. From then on out, they'd stuck to temporary places that they could leave at a moment's notice. How many times had John crashed into the room while they were doing their homework and told them that they were leaving? They would pack in a hurry, grabbing the few meager items they had, and then they were on the road within the hour, the constant hum of the Impala roaring in the background as the children tried to relax into an uneasy sleep.

But this time it was different. Instead of a 'by-the-wayside' motel with a questionable health rating and cockroaches the size of dinner plates, they were in a house. A small, white-washed place on the outskirts of the suburbs, close to the bustle of the city. It was the type of comfortable and open community that let its inhabitants succeed, but also near enough to the hot pulse of a thriving city that was waiting for more visitors to storm its battlements and ultimately fall to its sway.

Sam and Dean delighted in this place where they had a small room of their own and food that wasn't microwaveable. Even John found himself enjoying the creature comforts that he'd so long denied himself. For this single moment, there was a solid possibility of permanence, a slight hope that this simple house would become a home that they'd never have to leave again.

*****LineBreak*****

Siblings are perhaps the most difficult people to associate with. They've known us since the beginning and are firmly equipped with the knowledge of what hurts us most. Unfortunately, when things are at their worst, they aren't afraid to bring out our sordid secrets and use them against us.

The D'Angelo family knew about feuding and the proper weapons for the job more than anyone else. Lucifer was a rebel all the way, still angry. He'd loved his father and more than anything in the world wanted to please him, but he'd been replaced. For that, he held resentment, not only towards his father but for his precious brother, Michael, who remained constantly loyal to his own detriment. "You always were daddy's little bitch!"

"And you were always rebellious and angry, a spoiled brat hiding behind his coattails!" Michael screamed. As the oldest, he'd known their father the longest, grown up under his firm tutelage, and had always known that Luci was the favorite. There was a light, a sparkle whenever his eyes fell on his precious child that nothing else could give him. With that in mind, Michael worked himself to the bone in an attempt to be the better son. Everything. He did everything that his father wanted and more. Not that it'd been enough to make him stay.

Somewhere deep in the brothers' hearts they knew. They knew that it was the fighting, the disillusionment that had driven him away, but it was easier to blame each other, to yell and fight so they didn't have to take any real responsibility for their own hands in this disappearance.

While, it worked for them to be constantly at each other's throats, it only hurt their little brother. Every night, he'd lie in his small bed, staring up at the ceiling, trying to block out the sounds of screams and breaking glass. His blue eyes would screw shut as he softly prayed to God. "Dear Lord, please come and make them stop fighting. Make daddy come back. I promise I'll be good, just please." He made every deal that he could, promising everything that he had, all to no avail. Every night it was the same thing and the same prayer that never got answered. But Cas never gave up, he couldn't. Not while his family was in disarray, not when it was his fault.

It was a little known fact that Castiel blamed himself for what was happening. He was the last child, the one that, like a sick parasite, emotionally killed his mother and drove his father away. Though it was never said aloud, he felt sure that the arguments between the two elder D'Angelos had more to do with him than they would ever admit.

He knew they secretly blamed him, secretly hated him. He just knew it, because, secretly, he hated himself.

*****LineBreak*****

John Winchester was a hard-working man. He spent almost every day at the garage, tinkering with cars and trying to make enough money for his family to live off of. It wasn't that they were exactly struggling, but being a mechanic wasn't as glamorous as it would seem and he had two kids to look after. There were small expenses everywhere, bills, doctor visits, and eventually college to worry about.

In order to make sure they had the life he never did, he'd work his fingers to the bone. He'd take every hour that he could and make the best of his spare time with his boys. Though, he supposed he'd be lying if he didn't admit that he liked the work. He enjoyed losing himself to the cars, forgetting everything that had ever happened to him. It all swirled away under the hood of the cars, Mary, the kids, and the life that had veered so far from the path that he'd planned.

At least in the garage, he was only expected to work. He wasn't required to hold himself together for his family, to try to find the strength that he just didn't have. There, he was safe as long as he could work through his tears. He had these moments of permitted grief, and he appreciated them more than he could ever express. Perhaps that's why he chased them so much, because as long as he was at work, he didn't have to go home and face his reality.

While that worked for John, it left his sons at home alone to wonder. Dean did his absolute best to take care of Sammy in his father's absence. He gave him everything including the last bowl of Luck Charms and the most comfortable bed without hesitation and took joy in it.

There was nothing like the sparkling gleam in those big hazel eyes as they looked up to him. The six year old was still filled with youthful wonder about the world, naivety at its finest, and as a brother, Dean strove to preserve that for as long as he possibly could. He wanted his brother to believe in magic and fairies, to dream the impossible and put in the work to attain it. But mostly, he wanted his brother to be okay.

Even at an early age, unlike Dean, Sam was willing to question their father. His bravery was commendable and his questions difficult, which Dean supposed was one of the reasons John never came home. With him gone, it fell to Dean to answer to the best of his ability, which often left him floundering for the right thing to tell his brother so as to preserve the tenuous balance that their lives had developed.

"Dean?" the sleepy child asked, from the comfort of his bed as his brother sat next to him, stroking his dark hair that was getting just a bit long, though neither wanted to cut it yet. "When is dad coming home?"

"Soon, Sammy, soon," he murmured, even though he had no idea. John kept no constant hours. On a good night, he was home by eight, but on all the others, it was somewhere between then and morning. He was lucky to stumble in after midnight with a bottle and raucous giggling, and some nights he didn't come home at all.

Often when he did, he'd find that Dean was waiting up for him. The child would look into the tired red-rimmed eyes of his father, and he would see the real man behind the pain. Those dark eyes held back such an incredible misery that even at his age; he could feel it reverberating through him. "It's going to be okay," he'd say, clasping the man's shoulders tightly and giving him the brightest smile that he could summon from the deepest part of his heart.

Secretly, he didn't know if anything was going to be okay ever again. He only knew that was what he was supposed to do. His most important job was to comfort, to support both of them while neglecting himself in the process.

"Is daddy coming home tonight?" Hazel eyes stared into green ones while they fought to stay open. Though he was drifting, he was conscious enough to demand an answer.

"I don't know, but I do know you need your rest. Go to sleep. He'll be home before school tomorrow morning." Another thing he didn't know for sure, but could only hope was true.

"I wish he was here," the child murmured as he drifted off to sleep, his breath gentle and slow as though he didn't have any other cares or worries in the world. Just then, it was all as it was supposed to be, a child still a child.

"Me too, Sammy," he whispered. "Me too."

*****LineBreak*****

There was a moment when it all became too much for Castiel to bear. It was barely six o'clock, and the screaming had already reached a painful crescendo that flowed through the walls and even through the pillows that were clamped over his ears. The two brothers were in rare form that night, trading blows and throwing poisoned verbal daggers, some of which hadn't been thought of for nearly a decade.

There was something there that bothered the child. Something in the unrestrained ferocity that rather reminded him of two predators, snapping at each other for dominance. They were wild and deadly with foaming mouths and bared fangs that sparkled under the dull yellow glow of lamps.

He snuck down the stairs, watching the two people fight back and forth with savage strikes. He couldn't explain his actions, but for the first time in his life, he stepped between them. "Stop! Stop fighting," he yelled, his arms outstretched as though to keep them apart.

The two opposing forces glared down at him, anger clearly embossed on their faces. For a moment, there was a tense lull in the sound of raised voices and Cas understood what it was like to be unprotected in the midst of wild dogs. Those same dogs who were just waiting for him to flinch before they attacked.

"Move out of the way, Castiel. The adults are talking," Michael gritted out from between his teeth, all the while glaring over the child's head at his other brother.

"No, not until you stop." His small face was screwed up in determination, his bright eyes fierce. It had been almost six years since their father had left, and it was this same conflict every day and every night. There was never peace and never rest in that house. Well, Cas was tired of it, tired of trying to reconcile his turbulent emotions with whatever this war was really about. Right now, he only wanted peace, an enduring truce that would stop the senselessness.

"Move," Lucifer murmured, his voice frighteningly quiet after all of the screaming. He felt like a rolling storm, a quiet drizzle that was the precursor to the typhoon that would ravage the country and leave behind thousands of casualties in its wake.

"No." The child ignored the shuddering tingles that ran through his body as he realized that he was standing up for himself for the first time. "Dad left. I don't want you to fight too. I don't want you to leave." There it was, honesty from the mouth of babes. Something so innocent and so honestly meant that it had to change something.

The eldest D'angelo snorted. After all these years, he'd reached the end of his tether. All he'd done had a purpose, to preserve the family. In that interest, he'd hidden secrets, but now he was going to let them out, and everyone else be damned. "Dad? What do you know about him?" he demanded. "You were little and you don't remember any of it. And because of you we don't bring it up. But dad never gave a shit about any of us except his precious Lucifer."

"You've always been jealous of me!" Lucifer raged, a twisted sneer on his face. That sneer that contrasted so sharply with the nice business attire that he was still wearing from work. "You're just angry because daddy never had time for you, and instead of taking it like a man you hid behind 'protecting us'."

"You're selfish! You just couldn't handle losing the spotlight, not even for a second!"

"Stop! Stop! Stop!" Cas repeated the mantra, clasping his hands over his ears and praying that they would at last fall silent.

There they were, three screaming individuals wrapped in a cacophony of noise. There was only the screeching high pitches and rambunctious shouts that shook the air. Rage circled them all, wrapped tightly around their necks and causing jaws to clench and fists to rise to action.

It was an accident, or rather that's what Michael would say later to explain himself. All of that screaming tainted his mind and diluted his thought process. Too much was swirling around him, and he lost it. He lashed out and pushed the boy backwards, just hard enough to hurt as he crashed to the ground. "Shut up! You want to know the truth? You don't belong here! I took you in and took care of you, and what do you do? Dare to question me? Get out!"

He grabbed the boy by the scruff of his neck, dragging him to the door. "Get out!" The door slammed shut behind him.

Young Castiel stood there, knowing that he was no longer welcome in that house and that he had nowhere else to go. As of now he was all alone, a refugee in exile, shivering in the slight chill of the night air.

All he had was himself and an endless stretch of gray road set in front of him. He walked along it, somehow finding himself in the city that Michael had always prohibited him from entering alone, and found that it was much like he'd expected.

The streets there were dirty, ringed by partially decomposed trash and the lingering odor of urine. Cities like this were unforgiving places of steel and concrete where dreams either went to be achieved or to die. It was a blur of rushing cars and bright lights, a place that was hungry. It devoured and swallowed anyone either brave or stupid enough to enter its gates while casting a spell that made it impossible to leave once you'd entered its boundaries. It was a heaven, a mecca, but also a torture chamber in the deepest parts of hell as it brought out the best and worst parts of all who entered.

Those streets, they weren't safe. Criminals prowled, and not all of them were the monsters they appeared to be. Because it was the average ones that you had to fear the most because no one ever suspected them. It was these people who made their living off of other's misery. Pain, strife, anger, and vengeance were their pleasure and destruction their dessert.

All of this danger surrounded the lone child as he waded through unexpected depths, keeping to the shadows and skirting dark alleyways. Careful eyes scanned everything while avoiding contact with another living person.

As the darkness deepened, so did the cold. The child shivered lightly. Clutching his arms to himself while trying to preserve what little body heat that was left. Soon he'd have to find some comfortable corner and sleep until morning when he wasn't sure what he'd do.

But he could only handle one difficulty at a time. Right then, it was finding a place to rest his weary head. All around him, there were only bricks and mortar, but he was too tired to care. He sat in an alley next to a door promising that he'd wake up before the sun and be on his way.

The sun rose over the city in shades of orange and pink, lighting up the small boy crouched in the alley with his head between his knees.

"Ey' mate. This isn't the place to sleep. Time to wake up."

Bleary eyes opened groggily and stared up at the man in front of him. He was tall, thin, and clad in all black except for the gray disturbingly deep V-neck t-shirt that exposed a good bit of his thin chest. He was probably middle-aged with brown hair and a slight beard. His smile was mischievous, but also strangely friendly as though he'd known the boy all of his life.

"Wh-who are you?" the boy asked as he tumbled to his feet, convinced that he could handle himself if he was just standing up.

"The name's Balthazar, but my friends call me Balthy, or I suppose they would," he said in his lilting European accent, smiling all the while at his own joke. "And you, my friend, must be a runaway."

"How did you know?"

Balthazar smiled at the child, shaking his head at the naivety. How many of these children had come to his door, lost and confused, searching for something tangible to believe in? "I've lived in this city for twenty years now, and I've seen my fair share of runaways. So, I know the look; I can see it in your eyes, how you're shaking, nervous, constantly glancing around you."

Castiel was scared. He didn't know this man, but that man knew him. He could be anyone. Quite honestly, the chances of him being dangerous were substantially higher than the chances of him being a helpful stranger. However, there was something illusive that begged him to trust this man.

"Come on, mate. Follow me."

Every lesson that Cas had ever been taught urged him to run. Horrible things happened to kids when they trusted people they shouldn't. Later, those same children turned up as bloody bodies on some street corner, blocks away from where they'd disappeared. They were reduced from children, to nine o'clock news stories and muted headlines about how the good die young, and the young just die. He didn't want to be another of those cautionary tales that Michael loved to scare him with.

But as much as logic dictated he leave as fast as he possibly could, his instincts screamed at him to trust this man. There was some indescribable, shiny quality to him that made it impossible to believe he would have hurt anyone. Besides, the child though, had the man meant him any real harm, he could have done so while he was sleeping. It was quite possible that Balthy could have stopped him from waking up at all, but he hadn't.

Still, the boy had to be careful. "How do I know I can trust you?" Castiel asked guardedly.

"You don't. That's where the trust part comes in," Balthazar chuckled. "I'm going in this door. You're welcome to follow me… or not…"

The metal door opened, and hit the wall with an echoing 'clang'. Despite his mind's protestations, he followed hoping for the best. "What now?" He wondered aloud.

"Now we find you something warm. It was freezing outside last night."

It was true. The temperature had dropped dramatically and even now the boy was shaking slightly. Because of his sudden departure, he hadn't had time to get a coat and was now suffering because of it. Meanwhile, Balthazar was rifling through a closet, his keen eyes searching for something. "Ah!" At last, he had found it, a child's size beige trench coat. "Glad Ana left this last time she was here. Now, that should fit."

Cas slipped into the coat, grateful for the added warmth. It fit him perfectly, falling to his ankles in a swirl of fabric. He twirled, watching the coat flow around him, extending out like the petals of a beautiful flower. "Thank you," he murmured, secretly happy that he'd decided to trust this man as he'd at least been given something of value.

"Don't thank me. You'll work it off."

"Work?"

"Yes, I need help with a few things, and you're the best I can do right now," he said, but not unkindly. If anything, he was smiling as though this was a secret joke between two old friends even though they'd just met. "But as of now, I need to know something important. If you lie to me, you're out on your arse, understand?"

Blue eyes stared into dark ones. He could feel them trained on him, and knew that their owner was telling the truth. He wouldn't hesitate to dump him on the ground outside and leave him to his fate if he lied. "I understand."

"Is there anyone out there looking for you?" he asked. He had to be sure that this child was wholly alone before he could offer his own unique brand of help.

Castiel thought about it for a moment. The only people he had in the world were his brothers. Michael and Lucifer, the two people who'd gotten rid of him. He knew exactly how they worked and knew that the last thing on the their minds would be searching for him. Not after they'd already struggled to find their father. They would move on, forgetting him as though he was nothing but a bad memory. "No," he mumbled. "No, there's no one looking for me."

*****LineBreak*****

On good days, John came home with no problems. He'd lift his boys and swing them around the small living room while they laughed, temporarily forgetting everything they'd lost. These were the nights when Dean could relax because nothing bad would happen.

Then there were the bad nights when John stumbled in buzzed with a half empty bottle of liquor. His brown eyes would be heavy and blurred as he flopped down in the arm chair, mumbling to himself. It was those nights that the boys had to tread carefully, moving as silent figures throughout the house.

And it was one of those nights that changed everything for them. Sam and Dean were on the couch, watching Sammy's favorite cartoon when their father crashed through the door. "Boys! Boys!" he called. "Where are my boys?"

Dean, always the protector, shushed Sam with a glance, and intercepted his father before he could see him. "Dad! We're in here!"

A confused glaze loomed over John's eyes, his head bobbing slightly. "Son!" Comprehension dawned on his bleary features, and he swept Dean up into his arms, swinging him around. "I missed you, Son."

"I missed you too, Dad. Come on. Come sit down, okay?" He was begging and pulling all at the same time as he tried to get John to sit, so he wouldn't injure himself in his vulnerable state.

The heavyset man allowed himself to be pulled and sat down with a thump, the chair groaning underneath him. His head lulled and his arms swung with the bottle clutched tightly in his fist. "Where's my Sammy?"

Above all else, Dean didn't want to include Sam in all of this. When drinking, their father was vastly unpredictable. His range was anywhere from gently blubbering to angry raging. The only question: what was he now? "Dad…"

"Saaaammy! Saaaammy! Where's my Sammy?" he sang without the benefit of tone or pitch. His words were slurring already. Just a little longer and he would fall asleep. Now, it was just a game of waiting him out until he finally crashed and fell into a sleep that would last until the wee hours of the next afternoon.

But Sam wasn't in on the plan. He'd heard his father calling him, and felt the need to answer. It was a rare occurrence for John to take an active interest in either of his kids. Dean was able to rationalize and justify each of his sporadic actions, but Sam was seeking out some form of acceptance from this man who'd been abandoning them since that night of the fire. "I'm right here, Dad."

He sat up from the end of the couch, moving instead to the chair. He was rather hesitant as he approached the inebriated man, unused to seeing him like this. He was always the unsung hero, wrapped in his cape and sporting tights, though now all of that had quickly changed as he was now seeing the truth beneath the mask. "That's my Sammy!" John grinned. "My Sammy! You look so much like your daddy. Just like me. Not Dean, though. Dean looks like your mother."

The man's eyes drifted off to another place, one where his wife was still alive. He could see her the way she was. Pale skin, long blond hair, and bright blue eyes with a smile that never disappeared. In every way, she'd been the light at the other end of his tunnel, and once he'd figured that out, he ran to her, never straying from her grasp. Not until that night, the night of the fire.

"Mary! Mary! Mary!" The man screamed, rocking back and forth, the chair squeaking and quivering underneath his solid body. "I lost my Mary! The fire, the fire, the fire… she went back for it. Why? Why did she go back for it? I told her not to!"

"Shhh. Shhh." Dean soothed, rubbing his dad's arm. "It's okay, Dad. Calm down. It's okay."

But it wasn't. Rattling sobs shook John's body. He couldn't think or breathe, his mind full of images of his burning house. The acrid odor of black smoke filled his nostrils and cut off his air supply until he was panting desperately for air that wouldn't come. "Mary… Mary… Don't go back in there… Please, it's not worth it…"

Dean was trying to calm him. Slowly, the screams were beginning to decrease in volume and the tremors were also slowing. He'd like to think he would have succeeded had Sam not been there.

He couldn't understand, not really. After all, he was young, naive and only wanted John to feel better. Dean had always shielded him from this side of their father lest he begin to fear him, but now it was all exposed, laid blank and naked for Sam to see.

It hurt the older Winchester, the most to know that he couldn't stop the inevitable train wreck as Sam clutched John's leg. There was at least a second of prolonged calm before the man snapped. Large hands settled on his youngest son's shoulders and he shook violently, insanity glowing like a twisted aura around him. "What did you do to her?" he yelled. "What did you do to her?"

Sam was screaming in terror. John was breaking down and shouting. Meanwhile Dean was just standing in the middle, watching his brother being shaken to his core. "Stop! Stop! Dad!" Now, he was yelling too, trying to pull them apart, but the man had a death grip around the scruff of the younger Winchester's neck. "Stop it!"

He didn't know how, and would never question it, but somehow, he managed to pull his brother from that inhuman grasp, with only one or two sharp blows that he took to the softest parts of his face. The glass that had been in residence next to the chair shattered above their heads, and rained down small shards just as it had that night under the stars over Lawrence. Without thinking, the elder brother was dragging Sam out of the door and into the cool night air. And then they were running, feet pounding the concrete as they moved heedless of direction.

When at last, they staggered to a halt, they were panting with their huffing breath floating up to the sky as a visible vapor. "Are you okay?" Dean demanded.

His younger sibling only nodded, his long hair flopping about his face. Words wouldn't come as he attempted to ingratiate the man he'd seen with the men he'd known. "Why?" he murmured so quietly that Dean almost didn't hear him.

The green eyed boy pitied the child next to him. He remembered the first time he'd realized that John was broken. It was when he threw that shot glass the first time, trying to fight off invisible monsters, all while battling his own internal demons. There was nothing in the world so frightening as realizing that his anchor was unstable.

Now what was he supposed to tell Sam? How did he talk to the child after he'd seen it firsthand? "That wasn't dad. He wasn't okay, but he will be."

"Does he still love us?"

The pain, reflected in the tears behind those hazel eyes, was a palpable force. Dean could feel it in his chest, gouging a hole where his heart should have been. "Yeah, Sammy. He loves us more than anything, kay?"

"Okay," the boy murmured, though he didn't sound at all convinced. "Where are we going?" His voice was still full of absolute trust and youthful wonder. No matter what, he would follow his brother to the ends of the earth because he could always trust him. Even though his father had let him down, he knew that Dean would not.

Dean couldn't lie. The only place that he knew in the area was that little house they'd just left. All of this was uncharted territory, and now they were just randomly moving in one direction because of a seat of the pants choice they'd made when they left.

At this point, they could still turn around, but that would only mean meandering back to the place they'd just left. No, they could only move forward and hope for the best out of what had become a horrible situation. The two boys would follow the endless gray road wherever it led them and hope for the best, whatever that was supposed to be.

They moved past the oncoming headlights of cars and down less than savory streets. As they were going, Dean noticed Sam shaking slightly in only his plaid shirt. Without hesitation, the elder brother removed his khaki jacket and gave it to Sam who gratefully pulled it on, not caring that it was big and hung over his arms. He only snuggled more deeply and enjoyed that fact that it was warm from the other boy's body heat.

"Aren't you cold, Dean?" he asked, breaking the silence that had formed between the two.

It was undoubtedly cold, and even Dean was forced to resist the urge to wrap his arms around himself. As much as he'd enjoy the benefit of breaking down right now and admitting defeat, he needed to be strong for Sammy, to keep putting one disillusioned foot in front of the other. As long as Sam was breathing, he could continue doing what he had to, because his brother needed him to. Much more than he needed a jacket. "No, I'm fine."

Even as light streaks of pink entered the sky, the city's residents were moving. Men tried hailing cabs sleeping strangers returned home from nights of debauchery, and business men in fine suits paced the streets, meeting suspicious men on shady street corners. All the while, Dean clutched his brother closer to protect him from this world.

Yes, they'd travelled from one end of the country to another, bouncing between points like rubber balls, unable to control their landing. However, John had always kept them away from cities. He much preferred the outskirts saying that they were safer. After all, the boys were all that he had left in the world and he didn't want anything to happen to them. Unfortunately, he'd never considered himself as a possible threat.

"I'm hungry," Sam spoke up for the first time in a few hours. Up until that point, Dean had been ignoring his own rumbling stomach and pushing through for his brother. Even though their last meal of Lucky Charms and Spaghetti-O's had long since been digested and both boys needed something more if they were going to continue this pointless meandering.

"Just keep going, okay? We'll find something."

"Okay." The child's voice was small and fearful, carefully underplayed by an undeniable trust and a sense of wonder.

Everything around them was new and frightening, not to mention the fact that his dad had actually shaken him. The child could still feel those giant hands that were usually so gentle, hanging heavily on his shoulders. And he could see the unfamiliar monster in his eyes. That face that he thought he knew had morphed into one of a violent stranger's and he was left with only fear for which version of his father he would see next.

Dean considered stealing as his pockets were painfully empty and they were hungry. He knew that food didn't come for free, and that stealing was morally reprehensible, but after looking at his brother in that overly large coat with the pained expression of hunger on his face, how could he assume it wrong? Perhaps, it was one small shade of gray in a black and white painting. His family had never been very religious, but the boy would like to think that any God out there would understand two hungry boys stealing to survive.

So, when he saw the warm bread on a brick window sill, he took it. He took it without thinking and pulled little Sammy into the adjacent alley, crouching down to enjoy their spoils. The two ravenous children tore into the soft, warm loaf, both praising it as the best thing they'd ever tasted. Because when hungry, people find they can enjoy a variety of flavors they'd never taken time to consider. Like the bread that was slightly sweet and buttery, dancing on their palates until they'd swallowed it down.

For a moment, they were sated and sleepy, enjoying the ray of sun that beamed down on them. All around, there was the bustle of people moving towards their destination, but their little corner was relatively peaceful and calm. At least it was, until the metal door in front of hem swung open to reveal another boy.

He was about Dean's age and height with an unruly bunch of black hair. Though his most striking feature was the liquid clarity of his blue eyes. Those eyes that were the color of the sky and now currently pinning the eldest Winchester to the wall. "You stole that bread," he murmured, with a tone that held something unreadable.

Somehow, he knew and that thought sent Dean into full panic mode. "We don't steal!" Dean screamed ferociously at the other boy. He was doing what he did best, going on the offensive and hoping that his opponent backed down to him. But Castiel wasn't the type to back down from anyone. He'd stood between more arguments than he could count and those men had been much bigger and much more frightening than this child whose name he didn't even know.

"You're not in trouble," he assured the Winchester. "I… I brought you this."

From behind his back, he pulled out a pan of pie, still slightly warm. Dean's green eyes glowed as he took in the flaky, golden crust of his absolute favorite dessert. He had to resist the urge to ask what flavor, choosing instead to glare. "You thought we were stealing. So, what are you going to do? Reward us for it?"

"You were hungry, so I brought it out for you."

The logic of a child was simple and infallible. One circumstance plus another led to a third. It was easy, but it was also selfless and kind in a way that no adult could ever manage to be as they secretly always searched for what they could get from it. This one small gesture was innocent, sweet even. But to Dean, it appeared to be a viper with fangs ready to sink into his neck. "How do I know it isn't poisoned?"

The blue eyes boy grinned from ear to ear. "You don't."

Dean valued his ability to read people. In this boy, he felt something that he'd never felt before. He felt safe and even trusted him though it went against everything that he'd learned from his father. But still, he had to smile at the undeniable style this nameless boy had. "We'll take it, but first you have to tell me your name."

"Castiel," he said, his mouth twitching slightly at the corners. "But my friends would call me Cas."

"Would?"

His grin widened. "If I had any friends."

Dean chuckled. Castiel was funny in a self-depreciating sort of way, the same sense of humor that he himself had. For that, he couldn't resist taking the pie. He stared back and forth between it and him. "Thanks. Why… why don't you share it with us?"

He was rewarded with another white-toothed grin. The three boys sat in the corner, and dug into the pie with questing fingers, clutching the sticky apples and gooey crust for dear life. Crumbs flew out around them as they clumsily scooped to the very last bite, their eager yet sticky fingers only leaving dull residue in a shiny pan.

"Best pie ever," he groaned, his stomach filled to bursting. It had been a long time since either of the Winchester's had been this full. John always kept the cabinets stacked, but usually full of canned goods and cereals, never anything real or fresh, because Dean was the only one to cook it. And after the fire, he didn't follow his son near the stove if he could help it. "Who made it?"

"Balthazar. He practically pulled it from the air. He makes the best food." Cas couldn't help but brag about his new caretaker. For the past few hours he'd doted on young D'Angelo, fed him, clothed, him and cherished him like he hadn't known possible, while only asking for basic duties in return.

"Who's Balthazar? Your dad?" The elder brother remembered when his dad had done things like that. Those memories were clouded by innocent youth, faded dull from overexposure. Still, he could make out foggy images of John in an apron cooking and laughing while singing along to the Zeppelin in his head.

"I.. I don't have a dad." He paused. "My dad… ,Chuck, he left when I was young and I lived with my brothers." His memories of Chuck were fleeting. Somewhere in his mind, there was a dark beard and a cheesy grin with bright eyes. At times, he wasn't sure if any of that was real or if it was just the fluid abstract construction of his brain, wanting to believe in a father that he'd never really seen.

"Lived?" Dean couldn't overlook the past tense. As an older brother himself, he couldn't resist knowing. Because if it was Sam out on those streets, he wouldn't sleep a wink. He'd be out, searching under every stone and between every brick until he was able to scoop him up in his arms and hug him while simultaneously shaking some sense into him.

"I ran away. They were fighting… and I tried to stop them. And Michael… he told me to get out and not come back." Tears choked the dark haired boy as he tried to gulp them down. That night still stung him as he'd never expected to be kicked out of the only home that he'd ever known.

The golden rule of sharing was simple. In order to work, both parties had to coexist, dividing items of equal value. Cas had given his story and therefore shared a small piece of his pain. Now, it was Dean's turn to bare a little piece of his own soul and maybe release a tiny bit of his own repressed emotions. "Our mom died when we were little, and our dad… he tried his best. He didn't mean to, but… we had to leave for just a little while. We… we walked here." He could feel the sobs clawing at his throat, slowly climbing and begging to be released from their prison. Only by sheer force of will was he able to clamp down on them and be strong for Sammy who was still clinging to his side as though he was scared to step away.

"I'm sorry…" he stopped, realizing that he didn't know either of their names.

"Dean. I'm Dean Winchester, and this is my little brother, Sam."

Castiel smiled at the younger boy who'd been unusually quiet for a child of his age. "Hi, Sam."

"Hi," the boy replied quietly. His hazel eyes darted nervously around them and he seemed ill at ease. The only thing keeping him clam was his older brother at his side to protect him. "It's nice to meet you."

"Nice to meet you too."

"He usually talks more, but he's kind of shaken up." Dean felt the need to take up for his Sammy. He'd always done so and would continue to until he was no longer able to.

"I understand," Cas nodded. He didn't have a younger brother, but he knew what it was like to feel like he needed to protect his family. He knew that better than anything else.

"I don't," the green eyed boy admitted. "What are we going to do?" He didn't know who he was asking. Maybe God, Cas, Sam, or even himself. Either way, he was finding no answer. All around him, his world was dissolving into emptiness. No matter how hard he fought to surface, he found himself falling, and at ten, that was more than he could bear. He needed a lifeline, something or someone to pull him back to the relative safety of dry land.

Castiel extended his arm to the other boy, trying to be that lifeline. He'd been asking himself the same question since he left the night before. There was no certainty and until he'd met Balthazar, he'd been wandering and unsure too. At least now he sort of had a direction to follow, some guide to clamp onto until he had concrete answers to the questions that plagued him. "Come with me," he urged.

Green eyes stared at the hand as though he was attempting to see through it. It was an offer, though a flimsy one at best. He had no idea what was waiting with Castiel, only that there was a man named Balthazar who may just turn out to be nothing more than a monster in disguise. "Cas, I…I don't know."

"Cas," he smiled. "Only my friends call me Cas."

Friends. Neither of the Winchesters had ever really had friends before. Weeks, months, at most until they were on the road again to another nameless town and another cheap room. Other kids never had the time to get to know them, and they never tried to get close. After all, Dean knew he couldn't trust anyone with his story lest loose lips spread words they shouldn't. But this boy, Castiel, was in the same position, unable to move his lips at all, because there was no one there to hear him.

"Friends..." The hand was still out for him to take or reject. To reject and continue wandering these streets, unsure of what he was looking for. Danger would lurk behind every corner and he would have much to fear. Then there was Sam to take care of, always Sam. And out there in the world there were too many possibilities of things that could happen to either of them, therefore destroying the other.

Not that going with Cas was much better. They only had his word and hopes resting on a mysterious man named Balthazar. He could be anyone, like those men they saw on the late night news next to frightening headlines.

So, why was he entertaining this thought at all? Dean stared into those blue eyes and saw himself there. Whether or not he admitted it, they were all in the same place and all needed each other. From that first shared bite of pie, they'd bonded, making it impossible to separate.

In his mind he rationalized it out. If need be, it would be easier for the three of them to escape than to spend unnecessary time on the streets, struggling.

"Friends," he answered himself, taking the offered hand, their sticky digits uniting in an unbreakable chain of three frightened children who were desperately hoping for some change just around the corner. Cas's smile was blinding, like the sun falling to earth.

Those two sticky hands held to each other with a third smaller one in tow. In this need to survive, they all united in what felt like permanence. "Friends," Cas repeated, the word alien on his tongue. "Now come on," And he led the Winchesters into the building, all calm in the fact that they were together. Because they knew that as long as they stayed that way, they could take on anything or anyone who came their way.

**A/N:**

**Well there's yet another long chapter down, guys! It's coming along (slowly), though I keep getting more and more ideas and adding them to my plan, so I have no idea how long this might be. Definitely not as long as **_**Holly's Diary **_**though… at least not yet.**

**So, I know you've heard this blah-blah-blah before, but the updates will probably start becoming extremely sporadic soon. This is the last summer before my freshman year of college, and I haven't done nearly as much fanfiction as I was had originally planned to do for you, but never fear as I plan to donate a good portion of the rest of this time to you people (mainly so I don't self-destruct from mental insanity). However, when school starts, I'll be wholly devoted to not epically failing at life, and so not as much time to write all of this fluffy goodness.**

**Anyway, thanks for reading all of this extremely long and rambling note. I hope you enjoyed this small portion of my first multi-chapter Supernatural story. I know it seems pretty weird, but stick around. It will all come together in the end, and please just forgive the super OOCness. I'm working on it. **

**Thanks a lot for reading. Tell me what you think about it! Remember, reviews feed me and I'm not afraid of the flames.**

_**Remember: Reviews= happy camper. Happy camper= quicker updates. Quicker updates= you reading more. It's a cycle keep it going!**_

**Yours truly, madly, and deeply,**

**Einstinette**


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